


Time and Again

by lauren3210



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, M/M, Time Travel, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5223725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauren3210/pseuds/lauren3210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has an important research assignment, and he needs Auror protection. Harry’s a little concerned, not only because he can’t even pronounce the places Draco’s dragging him off to, but because there’s the <i>slightest</i> chance he might do something stupid, like tell Draco all about that little crush he’s been harbouring for a while now...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sivany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sivany/gifts).



> My dear, it took me a long time to come up with a story that I thought might be good enough for you. Writing this has left me kind of frazzled, but I really enjoyed it (geography research notwithstanding, because _goddamn_ that shit is _hard_ ), so I can only hope that you enjoy it just as much! Huge thanks to my beta, for putting up with all the different stories I made her read half of and then decide not to finish (you are an angel, my darling), and to the mods for being so amazingly awesome when I flailed at them and begged for an extension. You guys are what makes this fest so great, and I love you all. Xx

 

Time and Again

“We meet ourselves time and again in a thousand disguises on the path of life.”  
-Carl Jung.

“Heads up, you lazy sod, results are back.”

Harry jerked awake to the feel of his chair leg being viciously kicked. A purple memo was being dangled in front of his face. He sat up straighter in his chair and waited as Ron read the message they’d been waiting for. “Well? Who is it?”

“Magical residue traces back to one Harold Haglan, owner of _Dragon’s Lair Bookshop_ ,” Ron said, slamming the memo down on the desk in triumph.

Harry shot up from his chair and did a little twirl. “Yes! What did I tell you?” He pointed at Ron. “I _told_ you he was shifty.”

“To be fair, mate, I don’t remember disagreeing.”

Harry waved that off and continued his little victory dance. It was stupid, not least because it had only been a case of petty theft, plus the fact that they hadn’t even arrested the man yet, but Harry didn’t care. The case had been ridiculously hard to solve, what with all of the victims having various reasons for not being completely honest, and the general run around they’d been given by the Unspeakable Department. Robards had been starting to give both Ron and Harry those disappointed looks, as though they’d just proven to him that they were in fact a couple of idiots, rather than Auror material.

“If you’d stop wiggling your arse for five seconds, we can go and arrest the bastard,” Ron said, amusement in his tone.

“Potter!”

Ron laughed as Harry nearly fell over his chair, straightening up and trying to look innocent as their boss approached their desks. “Sir, I wasn’t-” Harry cut himself off and grabbed the memo, waving it vigorously. “We’ve solved the case, we’re off out now to make an arrest.”

Robards batted the purple paper out of his face and frowned. “Not today, Potter. You’ve been requested somewhere else.”

“What? Where?” Ron asked, at the same time as Harry said, “By who?”

“Not you, Weasley, just your partner here,” Robards replied, then turned to Harry. “You need to report to Fredericks in five minutes.”

“Why does the Unspeakable department want me?” Harry asked, perplexed, at the same time as Ron said, “But what about the arrest?”

Robards stared up at the ceiling with a sigh, as though asking for points for putting up with them both. “I didn’t ask, Potter, and I don’t care. They want you, they got you. Weasley can handle the arrest on his own for today.” He frowned at them both when they just continued to stare at him, and gave Harry a small shove in the shoulder. “Go on, get your arses moving!”

Harry glanced at Ron, who shrugged back at him, clearly as nonplussed as Harry was. “I guess I’ll see you later, then?”

Ron nodded. “I’ll give Haglan your regrets.” He clapped a hand to Harry’s shoulder as he moved off, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the bullpen, pouting a little as he watched him go.

It was annoying, because it had been over a week since they’d caught the case, since they’d followed that vague lead back to Haglan’s shop and Harry had had that little niggling thought that the rat-like little man had been guilty. And now he had to miss out on the bust, just because the bloody Unspeakables wanted him for something. Fredericks probably just wanted to yell at him for all the follow-up memos he’d sent, while Harry and Ron had been cooling their heels at their desks, waiting for the magical residue to be analysed.

Fredericks was seated behind his desk when Harry arrived at his office door. With a wave of his pudgy little hand, he indicated the seat opposite him. The door swung closed behind Harry as he entered, and he felt a prickle of alarm slide down his spine as he sat gingerly in the plush armchair.

“Mr Potter, thank you for coming down to see me.” Fredericks’ voice was higher than his appearance would suggest; a rather large stomach, the buttons on his red velvet waistcoat straining, and a thick, silver moustache covering his mouth, making it hard to see when he was speaking. His dark eyes, hidden behind large, square shaped glasses, twinkled, as though he was smiling gently, but Harry couldn’t tell for certain.

“What is it you wanted to see me about, Sir?” Harry asked. He couldn’t help adding, “I’m supposed to be finishing up a case with my partner.”

“If we could wait one moment, I’m still waiting on a member of my staff to join us.” As he said it, there was a sharp rap on the door. Fredericks granted them entry, and the door slid open and closed behind Harry. “Ah, Draco, there you are, my boy.”

That small prickle of alarm in Harry’s spine grew into a feeling of foreboding, and he slowly turned his head to acknowledge the new arrival.

Malfoy stood just a little behind Harry’s chair, pale hands clasped loosely together in front of him. He flickered a glance at Harry and nodded his head in greeting. Harry couldn’t help but notice that the colour of his Unspeakable robes made his eyes look more blue than grey. “Potter,” Malfoy said, his voice quiet.

“Malfoy.” Harry turned back to Fredericks. “What’s going on?”

“Straight to business, I like that.” Fredericks waved his hand at Malfoy. “Pull up a chair, dear boy, you’re making the place look untidy.”

Harry didn’t see how that was true at all; compared to the piles of unidentifiable things placed all over the office and Harry’s own slouch in his chair, with the crispness of Malfoy’s robes and the way he held himself in perfectly straight lines, Malfoy was probably the least untidy thing in the room. It made Harry want to mess him up, just so he didn’t feel quite so grubby in comparison.

“Draco here has been working on a project recently,” Fredericks said, as Malfoy conjured a rather stiff looking chair beside Harry and sat down. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Unspeakables spend most of their time researching here, in the Ministry labs. But sometimes it’s necessary for them to go out into the field.”

He paused here, as though waiting for some kind of input, so Harry cleared his throat. “Right. Er, good?”

“For this particular trip outside, Draco is going to be in need of some protection,” Fredericks continued, waving a hand to indicate Harry’s Auror robes.

Harry frowned. “Protection from what?”

Fredericks hummed and looked away. “There may be some people who don’t, ah, _want_ us continuing with this project of ours,” he told the wall.

“What people?”

“Ah, that’s… classified, I’m afraid.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Okay. Er, what is Malfoy going out into the field for?”

“Classified, I’m afraid.”

“Right. Can I ask where he needs to go?” He heard the hesitation in Fredericks’ voice and waved his hand impatiently. “Don’t tell me, that’s classified too, right?” Harry pushed up his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So let me get this straight: Malfoy has to go somewhere that’s classified, to get something that’s classified, and I have to protect him from other people, who are also classified?”

“Correct.” Fredericks sounded as though he was pleased that Harry had gotten it right so quickly.

Harry stared across the desk. “Wow. You Unspeakables really live up to your name, don’t you?” Next to him, Malfoy made a small noise that Harry thought was amusement.

“You’re to accompany Draco to wherever he needs to go, and make sure that he procures what he needs to complete his project and makes it back to the Ministry unharmed,” Fredericks said, holding out a piece of bright yellow parchment. Harry looked at it; a requisition form for his services to the Unspeakable department. “You’ll be leaving in an hour.”

Harry signed the form, aware of Malfoy seated quietly next to him. Fredericks folded the parchment and flicked his wand at it; it lifted up from the table and vanished, off to the clerical office where it would file itself.

“Thank you for your assistance, Auror Potter,” Fredericks said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other projects I need to be overseeing.”

Harry followed Fredericks and Malfoy out of the room, stopping the portly man once they reached the hallway. “Why me?” He asked, then sighed at the way Fredericks hesitated once more. “Let me guess: it’s classified.” Fredericks patted Harry on the shoulder and nodded to Malfoy, and then left them standing alone together.

“So,” Harry said, at the same time as Malfoy said, “Right.” Harry gestured to let Malfoy go first. “I’ll meet you in the Portkey room in an hour?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “We’re going far enough to need a Portkey?”

Malfoy just smiled. It was a rather nice smile, Harry realised; small but real, showing just a hint of straight white teeth and making the end of his nose scrunch up slightly.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me. See you up there in an hour.” He walked off, muttering under his breath about _bloody Unspeakables._

 

***

Harry was late by the time he made it up to the Portkey room on the second floor. He’d stopped back at his desk to pick up and recheck his Auror kit; a shrunken black bag that all Aurors carried whenever they left the offices, filled with essentials like food, water, clothing and shelter, just in case they were ever cut off somewhere and couldn’t Apparate. Ron still wasn’t back from making his arrest, so he’d left a note on his desk, telling him as much as possible about where he was headed (which wasn’t anything, really, seeing as how he had no clue himself). Then he’d made his way down to the Department of Mysteries again to see Hermione before he left. She was practically buried under a pile of paperwork, her hair bushy and almost crackling with energy as she scribbled feverishly. She made a distracted, noncommittal noise when Harry had said, “I’m off who knows where with Malfoy, so if I don’t come back, assume he’s murdered me and hidden the body,” so Harry left her to it.

Malfoy was already waiting for him outside the Portkey room. He’d changed out of his Unspeakable robes and into a long black peacoat, dark jeans and black boots underneath. Harry’s eyes took in the long length of him, leaning casually against the wall with a black bag slung over one shoulder, blond hair gleaming in the lamplight above him. Then he looked down at his own ratty old trainers sticking out beneath his stained Auror robes and rolled his eyes at himself. He felt like one of those lecherous old men who stared creepily at girls in bikinis.

“I haven’t made us miss it, have I?” He asked, forcibly restraining himself from trying to make himself look slightly more presentable. The damage was already done; he’d just have to endure the mocking and the taunts.

Surprisingly though, Malfoy didn’t smirk and say something cutting about Harry’s less than professional appearance. Instead he just shook his head and gestured for Harry to enter the office ahead of him. “No, it hasn’t been made yet. I’ll set it up before we’re ready to leave.” He leaned in closer to Harry and whispered, “Perhaps you’ve noticed, but we’re trying to keep as little information as possible from getting out.”

Harry scoffed to hide the shiver Malfoy’s proximity had caused. “So classified even the Portkey manager doesn’t know where we’re going?”

“Yep.” Malfoy moved away and raised his voice back to normal levels. “Choose an item for us to use; I’ll fill out the forms.”

“Gladly.” Harry moved over to the cardboard box filled with everyday Muggle rubbish; old wellington boots, rusty cans, supermarket carrier bags. The absolute worst thing about working in the Ministry was all the bloody forms that had to be filled out. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if they brought in forms for when someone needed to use the bathroom. He picked out an old paint brush, the bristles stiff and clumped together with dried and flaking white gloss paint.

“Perfect, thank you,” Malfoy said, when Harry held it out for him. He signed the last of the forms with a flourish, and handed them back to the Portkey manager, who was watching them curiously. Malfoy ignored him and moved them over to a small table, placing the brush on the surface and pointing his wand at it. A whispered _Portus,_ and the brush glowed blue for a moment, and Malfoy nodded, satisfied. “I’ve set it to go for a minute’s time,” he said, picking the Portkey up and holding it out to Harry. “You’re going to want to make sure you have a good grip; it’s going to be quite a journey.”

Harry frowned, and grabbed a hold of the bristly end, wondering where the hell they were going. He briefly thought about insisting that Malfoy tell him, but before he could open his mouth, he felt the familiar and unpleasant tug behind his navel, and the swirling sensation of rapid movement took him over.

The journey lasted at least twice as long as any other Portkey trip Harry had ever taken, and he was feeling quite sick by the time his feet hit solid ground again. His knees buckled, and he let go of the brush to brace his ungainly sprawl to the ground. He took a deep breath to calm his stomach, and only then realised that his hands had disappeared into a bank of thick snow.

“Where the fuck are we?”

He looked up at Malfoy, who had somehow managed to stay on his feet, although he also looked a little green. “Baie-d’Hudson, at the northern end of Quebec Province.”

Harry’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “As in _Canada_? Why the hell have we come here?”

Malfoy opened his bag, pulling out a long grey scarf and gloves, wrapping himself up firmly against the biting wind. It was dark, even though it must have been about eight in the morning there, and Harry remembered something about the lack of daylight some areas of Canada had to deal with. He pulled himself up off the frozen ground, gripping his robes tighter around himself.

“Is it going to stay dark all day?”

“No, they still get about seven hours of daylight this time of year,” Malfoy replied, pulling the collar of his coat up.

_Oh, so he will answer some questions, then?_ Harry planted his feet firmly (ignoring how the snow was already seeping into his trainers and freezing his toes) and crossed his arms. “Malfoy, tell me what the fuck we’re doing in Canada.” Malfoy jerked his head, scanning the area around them, and Harry lost his patience. “I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, if you say _it’s classified,_ I’m going to shove-”

“Ley lines.”

Harry stared at him. “What the hell are they?”

“Look, can we have this conversation somewhere a bit more-”

“We couldn’t get anymore private out here, Malfoy! Look around us!” Harry waved his arms to indicate the snow covered field they were standing in.

“I was going to say warm.”

“Oh.” Harry deflated, and shoved his rapidly numbing fingers into his pockets. “Fine then. Are we going to go and find a hotel or something?”

Malfoy slanted a look at him. “We’re trying to stay lowkey, Potter. I don’t think that rolling up in town and commandeering the penthouse suite is really a way to do that, do you?” He looked away, ignoring Harry’s spluttering, and pointed at an outcrop of spruce pine trees, nestled in a small valley a few hundred metres away. “We’ll set up over there. Erase our prints after us, would you?” And then he set off, leaving Harry gaping after him.

Erasing footprints in snow was hard work, forcing Harry to walk a lot slower than Malfoy. It didn’t help that he was walking into the wind either, fierce gusts that kept sweeping over the cliffs in the distance. By the time he made it to the treeline, Malfoy had already placed his bag on the ground, one hand sunk up to his elbow inside its depths. Harry took a moment to remember fondly the way Hermione used to do the same thing with her little beaded pink purse, and then the memory got a little _too_ real.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Malfoy looked up from where he was crouched, a heap of thick canvas spread across his knees. “What? Have you never been camping before?” He seemed genuinely curious, as though he hadn’t heard all of the stories about Harry’s year running from Voldemort.

Harry laughed, a little hysterically, and watched as Malfoy set up the tent with a flick of his wand. It was like a sense memory; Harry was moving before he even realised it, walking the perimeter of the tent and putting up all of the protection spells he and Hermione had used to take turns with back during that awful year on the run. “It’s a dream,” he muttered to himself, flourishing his wand towards the sky and watching the gold sparks rain down in an arc. “It’s just a really weird dream, and I’m actually just still asleep at my desk, waiting for the results to come in.”

He followed Malfoy inside the newly erected tent. “At least it doesn’t smell of cat piss.”

“Why would it smell of cat piss?”

Harry ignored Malfoy and moved further into the tent. He was already warming up, heating spells woven into the fabric walls keeping the air inside to an even temperature. There was a small kitchen off to one side, a bathroom, and a bedroom. The main room consisted of a picnic style dining table, a comfortable looking sofa, and a desk. It wasn’t as big inside as the one they’d borrowed from Perkins, but it did look better appointed. The kitchen was all gleaming stainless steel and bright white countertops; the open doorway to the bathroom offered a glimpse of glittering tiles and a promising looking shower; the bedroom held a large, canopied bed… _Wait. One bedroom?_

“I know it’s probably smaller than you were imagining,” Malfoy said from behind him, as Harry moved to investigate further. “And there is only the one bedroom, but as you’re meant to be protecting me, it’s probably best that we’re not separated.”

That managed to shift Harry from the stuck gear that was _one fucking bedroom,_ and he turned to face Malfoy. “And what exactly is it that I’m supposed to be protecting you from?” Malfoy winced slightly, and Harry threw his hands up. “Have you noticed that we’re in a tent in the middle of fucking nowhere, with nothing but snow around us for miles? Who the hell am I going to tell all this _classified_ information to?”

“I’m going to tell you,” Malfoy said, looking frustrated. “It’s just, you don’t even know what ley lines are, so it’s going to be a long explanation, and I’m tired, cold and hungry. Could we maybe get some food together and eat while we talk?”

Harry chewed on his lip, trying to work out if Malfoy was stalling. But he did look tired, and he was still a little green around the edges from the Portkey journey. “Fine,” he relented finally. “But I get the shower first, I think my toes have frozen solid.”

Malfoy nodded. “The kitchen’s already been stocked; I’ll see what I can find for dinner.”

“Breakfast. Canada is like, nine hours behind us.”

“Good point. I hope there’s eggs.”

 

***

“I’ve been involved in a project for the last year or so.”

Malfoy speared a chunk of omelette into his mouth, and Harry copied him. It tasted good; ham and cheese, with grilled peppers and mushrooms mixed in. He shovelled more into his mouth, suddenly aware of how hungry he was. The shower had been long and hot, enough to thaw out his fingers and toes and stop his teeth from chattering. He’d dressed himself in a dry pair of jeans and a t shirt, leaving his feet bare and propping his soaking trainers against the tent wall. Drying charms tended to leave everything stiff and uncomfortable, and the tent was warm enough to dry them properly in an hour or so.

“I don’t know if you were ever made aware, but the Ministry’s entire stock of Time-Turners was destroyed, back when-”

“When me and my friends broke into the Ministry, yeah I remember.”

Malfoy looked a bit uncomfortable for a moment, probably remembering just who else had been in the Ministry that night as well. He coughed, then took another mouthful of omelette. “Of course. Yes, well. Since then, the Ministry decided to leave the Time Room, until such time as someone came up with a way in which to end the loop they were caught in.”

Malfoy stopped to eat a few more bites, and Harry thought back to that moment in the Ministry, ten years ago, watching the Time-Turners fall, break, and then reassemble themselves, over and over again. “Let me guess: you came up with an idea.”

Malfoy nodded, patting at his lips with his napkin. “It’s taken me a couple of years, but I think so, yes.”

“And I’m guessing it has something to do with these layed lines you keep mentioning?”

_“Ley lines,_ and yes, it does. I need access to a pocket of Pure Time, and somewhere along a ley line is the only place where one can be found.”

Harry frowned. “Explain. Pretend I’m as stupid as you think I am, and use really small words.”

“I’d have to dumb it down to crude hand gestures, for that to be possible.” Malfoy smirked, but his grey eyes were twinkling, so Harry didn’t feel too slighted. “Okay, then. Do you know where magic comes from?”

“Er, from us?” Harry guessed.

Malfoy shook his head. “No. Our ability to _use_ magic is what makes us different from Muggles, who don’t possess that ability. But magic itself is something that we wield, rather than create.”

“Is that where these ley lines come in?”

Malfoy smiled, like a teacher proud of his student for connecting the dots. “Yes, exactly. Ley lines are made up of energy, and they cover the entire globe, mapping out an invisible grid. The frequency of this energy is what we tap into when we cast; we are able to transform this energy into _magic._ ”

Harry watched Malfoy as he spoke, mesmerised. His cheeks were flushed, hands fluttering about, sketching lines in the air in front of him, eyes so focused that it looked like he could actually _see_ what he was describing. He was talking so fast that he kept having to sip in little breaths whenever he paused, tongue peeking out to swipe across his bottom lip. Harry hadn’t seen anyone get this worked up since Hermione and her revision guides, and it was fascinating to watch Malfoy in a way that it had never been with his best friend.

They hadn’t had much cause to interact with each other, since the war. Harry had spoken up at Malfoy’s trial, bumped into him in the corridor afterwards for a brief and awkward conversation where Malfoy apologised and thanked Harry, and then they’d gone down their own separate paths, Harry into the Auror training program, and Malfoy back to school to finish his NEWTs and study for a Magical Theory degree. They’d nodded to each other in the hallways at the Ministry, or across the bar at the Leaky, whenever they saw each other, but that was as far as their interactions went. And if Harry sometimes found himself daydreaming a little, wondering what it would be like to kiss Malfoy, to see if his hair really felt as soft as it looked, to be the one who managed to put that pretty blush on his cheeks that Harry sometimes saw when Malfoy was rushing about at work, well. That was for him to know and for nobody else to find out about, _ever._

Realising that Malfoy was looking at him, one eyebrow raised as if waiting for a comment, Harry brought himself out of his reverie with a slight shake of his head. “Right, so, ley lines give us magic, got it.” Malfoy rolled his eyes, no doubt at Harry’s simplification, but he ignored it. “What does that have to do with the Time-Turners and how to fix them?”

“Unlike magic, which is a _force,_ Time is a _concept._ The world moves around, things are born, they grow old, and then they die, but the way we experience Time isn’t something that can be quantified. We can’t turn back Time, we can’t stop it, because it’s not a tangible thing upon which we can exert our own force.

“However, we are able to use magic to put restrictions on it in some ways, like making the Time-Turners, or using an Immobilising charm, or putting a Stasis charm on a Potion, things like that. What happened with the Time-Turners, when they were all smashed, was that the whole collection became caught in a pocket of Time, complete with our own restrictions. Inside that pocket, Time became that intangible, untouchable thing again, so nothing we tried had any effect on it. I suggested that the only thing that _would,_ is Time itself.”

Harry thought he was beginning to get the connection. “And you think there are these… pockets of time, or whatever, somewhere along these ley lines.”

Malfoy’s smile brightened, and Harry’s breath stuttered in his throat. “For us to have been able to siphon off enough Time for us to study and use within the Ministry, there has to be some deposits of it from which to draw. I theorised that the places most likely to hold these stores would be along the ley lines, where energy naturally flows, giving life, and therefore _Time,_ to everything around us.”

“That makes sense,” Harry said, his heart skipping a bit when Malfoy’s cheeks tinged pink. “Except for one thing.”

Malfoy frowned. “Oh?”

“It still doesn’t explain why we’re currently camped out on an ice block in Northern Canada,” Harry said, with a scowl towards the tightly closed tent flaps. “What, there aren’t any of these energy lines in London?”

Malfoy’s expression cleared. “Oh, there are. Lots of them, in fact, and one big intersection of them in the middle of Wiltshire.” He smiled thinly. “You didn’t think Malfoy Manor had been built there by accident, did you? But anyway, I needed a ley line within a particular set of parameters.”

“Such as?”

Malfoy ticked them off on his fingers. “I needed a longitudinal line, because those have more resonance than the smaller, latitudinal ones. I needed somewhere remote enough that the stores won’t have been drawn on too often, and I needed somewhere that was more easily accessible than, say, the middle of the Antarctic.”

“And this is the only one that fit the bill?”

“Yes. The others are all either beneath the sea, or too close to large populations.” Malfoy got up to make some tea.

Harry followed him, putting their empty plates in the sink. “So, what am I here for? To protect you from marauding polar bears?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Possibly, although I’d like to think I could fend off a polar bear with nothing more than a well placed Confundus charm all by myself.”

“Then if not the wildlife, why am I here?” Malfoy hesitated, and Harry reached out a hand, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him. “Enough of this classified bullshit. I can’t do my job if I don’t know what I’m up against.”

Malfoy sighed, leaning back against the gleaming white countertops. He’d taken off his coat while Harry had been in the shower, revealing a snug fitting black turtleneck jumper over his dark jeans. He looked like an advert for minimalist living. “You must understand, Potter. The number one rule for being an Unspeakable is to never speak about any aspect of our work. I’m sure Weasley gets much the same thing from Hermione when she’s at home.”

Harry stared at him, incredulous. “You called her by her first name.”

“Well, obviously. We do work in the same department,” Malfoy replied, although he looked a little uncomfortable. “But anyway, I’ve worked around that a bit, due to the fact that what I’ve told you is either commonly known fact, or still in the theory phase. But if I tell you any more, it will mean breaking that rule, something for which I could get thrown in Azkaban.”

He fidgeted his hands in front of him as he said that, and Harry understood his concern. Still, he wasn’t going to continue this job while working in the dark. “I’m not asking you to reveal all the secrets of the Department of Mysteries, Malfoy. Just whatever I need to keep you safe. There has to be a reason why you need an Auror to come with you, and I need to know what it is.”

Malfoy nodded, looking down at the plushly carpeted floor beneath them. “There are some people,” he said slowly, “That would like to stop me from fixing the Time-Turners, so that they can do it themselves, and use them for their own gain.”

“What people?”

Malfoy closed his eyes. “Death Eaters.”

“What?”

“Not the same ones you and I are familiar with,” Malfoy hastened to explain, as Harry glared at him. “Most of those are either dead or locked up in Azkaban. These are new people, relatives of the old order who thought their families got more than they deserved, or people who weren’t involved the last time but supported the Dark Lord from the sidelines.”

“What difference does that make, Malfoy? And how the fuck do _you_ know about this, when the entire Auror Department hasn’t got a clue?”

“Because I don’t imagine that many Aurors go around visiting family members in Azkaban!” Malfoy yelled out, then stomped back into the main room.

“What the hell does that mean?” Harry followed him out of the kitchen, watching Malfoy pace up and down the length of the sofa.

“Prison is surprisingly full of gossip, Potter, despite the fact that everyone is behind bars.”

Harry pushed up his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me get this straight: Your _father-_ ” he spit the word out, “- finds out about an uprising of Death Eaters, and you _don’t_ report this to the Aurors?”

“And what was I supposed to say? I don’t have any idea who these people are, and as far as I know they haven’t even done anything yet!”

“Then what makes you think you’re going to need protection from them now?”

Malfoy sighed and slumped down onto the sofa. “Because someone went through my research notes. My office was broken into a while back, not obvious enough for me to be able to report it, but I could tell. My notes on how to fix the Time-Turners had been shuffled around.”

“That doesn’t explain why you think Death Eaters are behind it,” Harry said shortly. “It could have been a rival Unspeakable, or even a maintenance worker who went into your office by mistake.”

“Yeah well, it makes sense, after what my father said the last time I visited him.”

“Which was?”

Malfoy stared down at his hands. “He was asking me about my research, and…” He swallowed, looking pained. “And he reminded me of the time in Malfoy Manor, when you got away.” His voice had dropped into a whisper, and his eyes flicked to Harry and then quickly away. “He said it would have been good if we’d had access to some Time-Turners back then, because we could have fixed the mistake that Wormtail made when… when he let you out of our basement. And then we could have won the war.”

Harry felt sick just at the thought of it, but he noticed that Malfoy didn’t look much better. “This is why you didn’t want to tell me, wasn’t it?” He asked quietly. “It didn’t have anything to do with classified information, or Unspeakable rules.”

“It’s not something I enjoy talking about, no,” Malfoy said, which wasn’t what Harry had meant at all. He peered closer at Malfoy, taking in the deathly pallor of his skin, the way his hands trembled, his teeth biting into his bottom lip hard enough to bleach all the colour from it. His reticence had nothing to do with protecting his father. Talking about it _scared_ Malfoy.

Harry felt all the anger drain out of him at the realisation, and he dropped onto the sofa next to Malfoy. “Okay,” he said, forcing his voice to come out lighter, “Next question is, how do we know these people haven’t already been and got whatever they need?”

“Because I didn’t tell anyone about the ley lines.”

“What?”

“I only told Fredericks about my pockets of Time theory, not where I think we would find them,” Malfoy said, a grim smile on his face.

“You don’t trust your own department head?”

“Oh, I do. He’s a good man, proven by the fact that he didn’t push me to reveal my idea, and his suggestion that I take an Auror along for protection. But the more people who know, the more likely it is that it will get out, so it just seemed safer to not tell anyone.”

Harry regarded him appraisingly. “That’s a very Slytherin way of looking at it.”

“I take it you think I should have confided in my best friends?” Malfoy scoffed.

“I didn’t say it was a bad way of looking at it.” Harry shrugged. “I probably would have done the same thing in your position.” He thought back to when he’d refused to tell Remus their mission to find the Horcruxes.

Malfoy looked steadily back at him. “It’ll be light soon, and then we can start searching,” he said eventually.

Harry nodded. “I’m going to try and transfigure my clothing into something that won’t leave me one giant block of ice the second we step outside.”

“Good idea.”

 

***

According to Malfoy, the closest village was a place called _Ivujivik,_ population less than four hundred, and none of them were likely to come near where they would be searching, because the water source was currently frozen over. Oh yeah, and _that_ had been what they’d landed on earlier - not a field covered in snow, but an _iced over river_ that had been covered in snow. Merlin, and Harry thought he and Hermione had found some weird places to set up camp. But anyway, the point was that if Harry saw anyone coming, it wouldn’t be locals coming to see what they were up to.

Harry had transfigured his trainers into some knee-high snow boots. The fur lining was lacking a little in depth, but at least they were warm, and sturdy enough to keep the snow out. He’d left his jeans as they were, and added a fleece lining to the jumper in his survival kit, then transfigured his Auror robes into one of those massive padded jackets, complete with fur-lined hood, that he’d seen people wearing in films. Malfoy had done much the same to his peacoat and boots. He also had his scarf and gloves, while Harry’s hands were bare. He preferred that anyway; he could keep his hands in his pockets as much as possible, and he wouldn’t have to worry about his grip on his wand should the situation arise.

They left the tent where they’d pitched it, Malfoy turning around and looking impressed once they left the bubble of protective spells and the entire camp disappeared. There weren’t even any depressions in the snow, and their prints looked as though they had dropped straight from the sky.

Malfoy whispered to his wand and then stared at it intently for a few moments, and Harry recognised a more technical version of the _Point Me_ spell. He lead the way and Harry followed him, wiping out their tracks behind them. It wasn’t until they’d been walking for about half an hour that Harry realised what it was they were walking _on._

“Er, Malfoy? You do know we’re walking on ice, right?” He asked, trying to listen out for any ominous creaking.

“Don’t worry, it’s more than thick enough to take our weight,” Malfoy replied, voice muffled by his scarf.

“I thought you said this ley line was the most accessible?”

“It _is,_ compared to the bottom of the ocean. Somehow I doubt a dose of gillyweed would quite suffice for a mission like that.”

Harry slanted a look at Malfoy, unimpressed with the reference to his failed second Triwizard task. He could see the smirk even through the grey fabric wrapped around the lower half of Malfoy’s face, and he rolled his eyes.

Malfoy pointed at the ground in front of them. “Somewhere near here is a place where two separate ley lines intersect the one I’m following. When I find that, I’ll be able to detect how big of a Time Pocket there is.”

“When you say somewhere near here…” Harry said, after another half hour of walking. Despite the newly transfigured warm clothes, he was already beginning to shiver with every gust of wind.

“Here,” Malfoy said. “At least, I think so. Hang on, let me check.”

He bent down and began removing things from his bag: a stack of parchment, a self-inking quill, and… “Is that a _geometry compass?”_

“You’d be surprised at how much magical theory relies on modern Muggle contraptions,” Malfoy said distractedly, scribbling an equation down on the parchment balanced on his knee. Harry couldn’t make any sense out of it; it all looked like lines and squiggles to him. “And yes, this is it.”

“Okay, so what do we do now?”

“Now,” Malfoy said, standing up again and holding his wand straight out in front of him, tip pointed in the direction of North. “Now, you keep an eye out for interruptions, and I’ll see if I can channel enough Time from the pocket to fill this.” He held a glittering glass jar in his other hand. It glowed with a faint golden light, already covered in enchantments to keep the Time safe until they could get home.

Harry left him to it, turning his back and scanning the horizon. The sun might have finally risen, but it only gave off a very weak light, making it seem close to sunset almost as soon as it could be seen. The few trees surrounding the place gave off long, purple shadows, and snow covered rocks looked bigger, more imposing, in the wan natural light. They’d walked far enough out on the frozen river that the treeline they’d made their camp in had long been swallowed by the darkness. There was nothing around them for miles. It was quite relaxing, actually.

At least, it was, until Malfoy suddenly started cursing up a storm.

“What? What’s the problem?” Harry swept his gaze over Malfoy, making sure nothing was out of place.

“There’s not enough. If I were to take the amount I need, it would deplete the store completely, and probably upset the balance of the entire ley line.” Malfoy knocked his hood back onto his shoulders in a sharp movement. “Fuck!”

“How did it all get used up?”

Malfoy began shoving his things back into his bag with angry jerks of his arm. “This is the only intersection in the area. There’s another three pointer beneath Alaska, and a two pointer up near Greenland, but this is the only one in Canada. It’s probably being used by the entire Canadian magical population.”

“Ah.” Harry thought about it. “Do you know where any other intersections are?”

“I know them all, I’ve been studying them for the better part of a year,” Malfoy said, slinging his bag back over his shoulder. “There’s a two pointer in England. Stonehenge is built on top of it, and it’s probably the reason my family built our home there. Closer to the source of their power, you know.” Harry nodded. “There are big four pointers in Australia, Asia, and California.”

“Hollywood suddenly makes so much more sense.”

Malfoy laughed, and Harry was glad to have helped take the frown from his face.

“So, what’s the plan now?”

“Now, I guess we follow the ley line down to its next intersection.” Malfoy began leading the way back to their tent, and Harry once again erased their tracks behind them.

 

***

Harry was full on shivering by the time they made it back to the treeline where they’d left the tent. He and Malfoy had already agreed that they were too tired to move on to the next location straight away; the long Portkey journey followed by the extreme cold had sapped them both of a lot of strength, not to mention the fact that it was well past midnight back in England, so they’d both been up for close to a full twenty four hours. Harry was looking forward to a nice hot cup of tea and then curling up on the comfy looking sofa for a few hours sleep.

Malfoy was stomping along just ahead of him, still irritated that his theory hadn’t worked out on their first stop. Harry trailed behind him, removing their tracks as he went, leaving an untouched blanket of snow in their wake. He was bone-tired, and freezing, and he almost didn’t hear the snapping of twigs and the sound of quiet whispers until it was too late.

He jumped forward, grabbing Malfoy’s shoulder and slapping a hand across his mouth, stopping the startled sound he made from echoing out through the trees. He pulled Malfoy over to the closest trunk, then leaned close and whispered in Malfoy’s ear, “Someone’s here.”

They both stood stock still, hardly breathing as they listened to the muffled silence of the snow covered ground. Harry’s hand slipped from Malfoy’s mouth down to his chest, holding him close, ready to push him behind him at the first sign of trouble. Malfoy’s gloved hand flexed around the strap of his bag, his grey eyes wide and searching. Harry, for his part, didn’t bother to look. His Auror training had kicked in, reminding him that the eyes played tricks in tense situations, ears heard ominous tones in innocuous sounds. Instead, he concentrated on what his body was telling him; his fight or flight response was indicating that danger was to their left and ahead of them, his muscles refusing to turn his back on that direction.

“The protection spells on the tent is making them veer away from it,” Harry whispered, nodding his head in the direction he thought their unwanted visitors were. “If we move quietly enough, we should be able to slip inside the bubble, and then we’ll be safe.”

Malfoy nodded, his hair sliding against Harry’s temple. “How many are there?”

“I don’t know. At least two, because I heard whispering. Come on, keep going, towards the right. We’ll come up on the back of the tent.”

Harry planted one hand on Malfoy’s back, fingers curling around his shoulder strap to keep him within yanking distance. The snow on the ground was thinner here, where the trees overhead caught most of it, so they went slowly, choosing each footfall with care, making sure they made as little noise as possible. Harry continued erasing their tracks behind them, still listening out for sounds coming from their left.

“It’s buggering cold out here,” a voice said, and Malfoy jumped. Harry put a hand on his elbow, reminding him to keep as silent as possible.

“Well, you can’t say we didn’t warn you,” a second voice replied. “And keep your voice down, they’ve got to be around here somewhere.”

The first speaker kept on mumbling, a little bit quieter than before. “I thought you just meant bring a hat and gloves, not bloody long johns.”

“There’s no fucking trace of them,” a third voice burst out suddenly, and Harry winced. He’d hoped there hadn’t been more than two; his chances of beating more than that in a duel was possible, but unlikely.

“This snow looks brand spanking new,” the first voice agreed. “Maybe we heard the time wrong? We could lie in wait for them.”

“No, they’re here,” said the second voice decisively. He sounded to Harry like the leader of the group. “The Malfoy kid was definitely scheduled to leave before we did. Potter is probably covering their tracks.”

Malfoy stared down at where Harry was still feverishly wiping away their footprints. Harry waved him on, pointing towards two trees that bowed away from each other. The back of the protective bubble was just beyond; he could almost make out the faint shimmer of his own magical signature. As Malfoy got to the two trees he stopped, eyes darting around fearfully; he couldn’t see the faint disturbance in the air that told Harry they were in the right place. He placed his hand between Malfoy’s shoulder blades and shoved, and Malfoy tripped right over the line into their camping spot. Harry quickly erased the last of their steps and hopped over, sighing with relief at the sight of the tent waiting for them.

Malfoy glared at him, and opened his mouth as though about to yell, and then shut it abruptly, eyes darting back to the treeline.

“It’s okay, you can talk,” Harry said, gesturing at the steel grey sky above them. “As long as we stay inside the protective bubble, they won’t be able to see, hear, or find us.”

“What if they find the bubble?” Malfoy asked, his voice still hushed with caution.

Harry pulled a face and shrugged. If they did, then it would mean a fight at some point. Their stalkers wouldn’t be able to get inside without some serious spellwork first, but Harry and Malfoy wouldn’t be able to Apparate while inside the protective sphere either. “Don’t worry, they won’t. I put up a Repelling Charm.”

“There are ways around that, you know.”

“Yeah, but it’ll take them a while and it’s cold.” He fixed Malfoy with a reassuring look. “I know what I’m doing, don’t worry.”

Malfoy nodded, still not taking his eyes off the trees surrounding them. “Shall we go inside the tent?”

“You go, I’ll keep watch for a bit, make sure they move on,” Harry replied, and watched Malfoy make his way round to the tent opening. Then he sighed and cast a Heating Charm on himself, and settled down by the base of the two trees, scanning the snow in front of him. He didn’t like Heating Charms; they made his skin feel too tight and they never lasted very long. But while he was stuck out here, the charm was still better than his hands falling off. He thought of the cup of tea he’d been dreaming about for the last few hours, and sighed again.

“It’s no good, they’re not here, Chi-”

“What did we say about using names?” The second voice interrupted with a snap.

“Not to,” grumbled the first man.

There was a sound of fabric rubbing against something, and then a light splatter of falling snow, off to Harry’s left. He eased his wand out of his pocket and placed a hand on one of the trees for balance, and stared into the gloom. Another shiver of snow, and then a man dressed in long black robes stepped out from behind a bush. He was shivering visibly, his long grizzled hair clinging damply to the side of his pockmarked face. Two more men stumbled out behind him, one tall with dark features and a hook nose, rather like Snape’s, the other short and squat, a bowler hat sat on an angle on top of his greasy dark hair. Harry stared at them intently, but couldn’t place them; these definitely weren’t any Death Eaters he knew, if that’s even who they were.

“We got given the wrong information,” Pockmark said, kicking at a drift of snow and grunting when it swallowed his boot. “They’re not here.”

Hook Nose sneered at his partner. “Why would he give us the wrong information?”

“Maybe he doesn’t know it’s wrong,” Bowler Hat said. His voice was low and bored-sounding, as though utterly uninterested in what they were doing.

Hook Nose rolled his head back and sighed dramatically. “Okay look, we’ve got two choices here. We can either assume that the information was good, and that the Malfoy boy and Potter are around here somewhere. Or we can go back and make sure we were told the right place.”

“I vote for going back,” Pockmark answered immediately. Harry could barely understand him through the chattering of his teeth.

“You would say that.” Hook Nose.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” said Bowler Hat, “That you’ve been itching to be let off this mission ever since you learned which Auror it was that got sent with the Malfoy kid.” He snorted.

“Course I have, I’m not daft,” Pockmark retorted. “And if either of you two say you’re interested in going up against Potter, then you’re stark raving mad. God knows what powers that kid has.”

Harry snorted. Maybe they’d like to see him playing in his Fantasy Quidditch League; he really was quite good at it.

“And as I keep telling you, we don’t have to worry about Potter,” Hook Nose said impatiently. “Everyone knows how much he hates Slytherins, and that family in particular. He’d probably join us in killing the little Malfoy bastard. At the very least, he’ll leave us to do what we liked with the brat.” Hook Nose smiled nastily. “And I intend to make that little turncoat suffer, before we put him out of his misery.”

Harry’s stomach turned over. Then there was the sound of a twig snapping behind him, and Harry whipped his wand around, only to find himself staring up at Malfoy. He held a mug of steaming tea in his hands, fingers clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. Harry stood up, reaching out to coax the drink out of his fingers. “They’re wrong, Malfoy,” he said quietly, and Malfoy’s wide grey eyes swung over to meet his. “I’m not going to let them touch you.”

Malfoy swallowed, then nodded, finally relinquishing the mug. “You wouldn’t be a very good Auror if you did, I suppose.”

“That’s not why,” Harry insisted. Malfoy looked at him, but before Harry could think of how to explain what he meant, the three men started talking again.

“I voted for going back, what about you two?”

“We’ve searched all around this wood, I can’t see how they could be here,” Bowler Hat said. “If they’ve been and gone, we need directions to where we look next. If the info was bad, then we need to find out where they actually are. Either way, I say going back is our best bet.”

Hook Nose glared at his two companions for a long moment, then grimaced. “Fine. But make sure you’re both properly dressed for wherever we end up next. If I have to hear you complaining any more, I’ll hex you both into jellyfish.”

A second later and three loud _cracks_ sounded out through the wood, the men Disapparating back to wherever they’d come from. Harry turned back to look at Malfoy. “They could be back at any moment,” he said, and gulped down the rapidly cooling mug of tea. It was just warm enough to heat his throat as it slid down, rich and sugary, just the way he liked it. He spared a moment to think about that, then Banished the mug back into the tent’s kitchen.

“We need to move on, _now.”_

 

***

They landed in a dusty field, dry scrubland fading into steel grey water in the distance. It was considerably warmer, so Harry assumed they’d jumped far enough south to have left Canada completely behind them. It was already growing dark, the sky above them a chiaroscuro of purples and pinks and reds. It was quite beautiful.

Harry turned to Malfoy, who was busy stuffing their used Portkey back into his shoulder bag. “Where are we now?”

“Dare County, North Carolina.” Malfoy looked around them, stopping when he saw the lighthouse standing tall a few hundred feet away from them. “We’ll have to make camp somewhere and wait until after full dark. The Time Pocket should be under that there.”

Harry looked around at the few people milling around the lighthouse and nodded. From the few people he could see walking around the base of the building, it looked as though it was a bit of a tourist attraction. “There’s a treeline over there,” Harry pointed out. “We can set the tent up a little ways in.”

They made quick work of the trek to the patch of trees and stumbled onto a good sized clearing. Harry looked around, frowning. “There’s not much cover,” he mused out loud. “If we’re followed, it won’t take much for them to realise where we must be, no matter how many Repelling Charms I put up.”

Malfoy nodded, and paused his search for the tent in his bag. “Do you think we should find somewhere else?”

“I don’t think there is anywhere else, at least not close enough.”

Harry turned around and went back to the edge of the trees, staring out at the vista. It was all flat, fields with dry soil and clumps of dead grass, and a few more sporadic trees reaching down towards the water. Not many places to hide, or to keep under the radar of Muggles. He trudged back to the clearing.

“This is the best place, we’ll just have to be careful.”

Harry put up as many wards as he could think of, while Malfoy set up the tent. Then they both fell through the flaps and collapsed onto the sofa. Harry had been right; it was incredibly comfortable. He rolled his head to look at Malfoy, who was sitting staring down at his lap. “You okay?” Harry asked him quietly.

“They really want me dead.” Malfoy laughed, a small, hysterical sound. “I realised that when my father refused to explain more of the plan he’d heard, he’d known that I wouldn’t want to be a part of it. I thought that I could…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You thought what?”

Malfoy rubbed his forehead. “I thought that this time I could just stay out of it.” He laughed again, a low, mournful breath. “But they really want me dead.”

Harry sat up and placed his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, forcing him to look at him. “Malfoy, listen to me.” He waited until Malfoy was looking at him. “Forget what they said, because I’m promising you, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Malfoy smirked, but it held none of the derision it usually did. “How very Gryffindor of you. A Slytherin would have walked away by now.”

“Bullshit.” Harry raised an eyebrow, remembering a pale and sweaty Malfoy, dragging a choking Goyle up a pile of burning furniture in the Room of Requirement. “I’m here to do my job, Malfoy. And that’s what I’m going to do.” He patted Malfoy’s shoulder and stood up. “Starting by feeding us both, I’m absolutely starving.”

Malfoy’s mood picked up a little as Harry set about making them both some bacon sandwiches and mugs of hot, sweet tea. He’d learned from Molly that after chocolate, tea was one of the best things to deal with a shock.

They didn’t talk much as they ate and drank. Malfoy had pulled out his research notes and spread them over the table, and Harry picked out a few pages. He could barely understand a word of it; Arithmancy equations and sketches of runes, covered the parchment, with Malfoy’s neat, cramped handwriting shoved in the spaces between.

After a while, Harry left Malfoy to it, cleared the table and did the washing up, then sorted through his Auror kit bag. He looked out of the tent flaps and saw that it had turned into complete darkness outside. He walked to the edge of the trees and scanned the horizon; the lighthouse and the surrounding area was completely deserted, the water beyond reflecting the night sky.

“I think we’re good to go,” he announced, walking back into the tent. Malfoy had already packed away his notes and was now checking his instruments, and he nodded.

They walked quickly across the fields and up to the lighthouse, Harry looking around warily all the time. They’d been caught by surprise in Canada; he wasn’t about to let that happen again.

“We need to get inside,” Malfoy said, pulling Harry’s attention back to him. “The lighthouse was built right on top of it.” He stared up at the tall structure. “The perceptiveness of Muggles surprises me sometimes.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, but walked over to the door and unlocked it with a wordless spell. He checked the inside, then stepped back for Malfoy to enter first. The bottom floor was one large room, crates filled with straw stacked next to one curving side. A winding staircase began just to the left of them, and Harry peered up it, trying to see the very top. He couldn’t; it was too high. He sent up a revealing spell, just in case. They were completely alone.

Malfoy was already kneeling down in the centre of the room, pulling his weird little contraptions out of his bag. “It shouldn’t take as long this time,” he said, gripping his wand tighter and settling down into a seated position. “I’ll be able to feel the resonance more easily now that I’ve already tried it once.”

Harry sat down on a step a few feet from the bottom, right next to one of the tiny windows. It was too dark to see much; the sky was cloudy and the moon nothing more than a thin sliver of white against the black, but he hoped that it would be enough for him to spot any trouble before it was right on top of them.

It seemed like forever, despite Malfoy’s assurances to the contrary, before he was standing up and pacing the circular room, cursing under his breath. He looked up at Harry, anger and disappointment swimming in his eyes. “This pocket has been drained, too.”

Harry nodded. He had suspected as much, from what little he’d understood from Malfoy’s research. “So we move on to the next intersection?”

Malfoy grimaced, looking a little dejected, so Harry jumped down the steps as energetically as he could, trying to convey his willingness to keep following Malfoy’s plan.

“I don’t like the idea of staying in this place any longer than we have to,” Harry said, moving over to the crates and rummaging around. “The quicker we can pack up and move on, the safer we’ll feel, I think. Do you have what we need here to make our next Portkey?”

“You’re the Auror, whatever you think is best.”

Was that a compliment from Malfoy? Harry smiled a little, and pulled a flat, metal circle out of the crate. It looked like a part of the lamp for the lighthouse. He shrank it down and handed it to Malfoy, who turned it into a Portkey, ready to go whenever one of them whispered the activation word, and handed it back. After a brief hesitation, Harry picked up another ring and shrank it down. He shoved it into his pocket, just in case.

“Okay, let’s get moving.”

It was pitch black outside, so dark that Harry could barely see his hand in front of his face. He made sure to walk close to Malfoy, so that he would know where he was at all times, while he scanned the area around them for anything out of place. Despite his vigilance, he still almost missed the sound of cracking twigs, just moments before three dark figures stepped out of the treeline.

There was a yell and a brief flash of red lighting up his vision, but Harry was already moving, shoving Malfoy down to the ground and rolling on top of him, feeling his jaw bounce painfully off the ground. He distantly heard Malfoy cry out, but Harry didn’t look at him. He pulled himself up into a crouch, shielding Malfoy’s body, and sent a few spells back in the direction of their assailants. He heard one stumble and another curse, and knew that a couple of them had hit their intended targets, but Harry knew that wouldn’t last. They were in the middle of a field, the only meagre shelter the trees, which their attackers were taking full advantage of. He couldn’t fight off three of them forever, not without the possibility of Malfoy getting caught in the crossfire. He spared a brief thought for their tent, and all of Malfoy’s research. He gripped Malfoy tight around the elbow, pulled the Portkey out of his pocket, and activated it.

 

***

It was pitch black, and at first Harry wondered if they’d moved anywhere at all, despite the lurching of his stomach from the journey. Then he felt his knees start to sink into the softer ground beneath him where he was still crouched above Malfoy. He dropped the now dead Portkey and pointed his wand out in front of him, scanning the area, but he could already tell that they were completely alone.

“It’s okay, Malfoy. We’re safe here. Wherever here is.” Harry slid off of Malfoy’s chest and looked around. In the dark, he couldn’t see much, but he could hear water lapping somewhere close by, could feel coarse sand beneath his hands and knees. He could just make out some rough outlines, maybe rocks or the beginning of a cliff face.

“Where are we, anyway?” He looked down when he got no answer, and wondered if Malfoy was ignoring him. Maybe he was annoyed that Harry had left all their things behind? “Malfoy,” he said, with a bite of impatience, “Where are we?” He grabbed Malfoy’s shoulder, giving it a rough shake, but got nothing more than a quiet moan in response.

“Malfoy?” Harry shook him again, harder. “Oh fuck, Malfoy? I can’t fucking... Where’s my wand… _Lumos!_ Oh no, no…”

Malfoy was deathly pale in the thin light of Harry’s spell, his eyes closed and mouth slack. The front of his coat was covered in a dark, sticky fluid, and when Harry lifted his hand, it came away red. Harry’s heart jumped into his throat.

“Malfoy, no, don’t do this to me.” Harry leaned over his prone form, tapping his hand against Malfoy’s cheek. “Come on, wake up, I can’t get help if I don’t know where we are!” Malfoy’s eyelids fluttered but didn’t open, a thin moan sliding through his parted lips.

“Shit.” Harry looked around wildly, pressing down on Malfoy’s stomach, where the worst of the blood seemed to be coming from. He couldn’t get them out of there; he couldn’t Apparate without knowing where he was going, couldn’t make another Portkey without knowing where they were. He needed to find them some shelter, and he needed to try and fix Malfoy’s wounds, and he couldn’t fucking _see_ anything.

They were fucked, basically.

“Okay, here’s what I’m going to do,” Harry said, talking out loud more for his own sake than Malfoy’s. “I’m going to climb over those rocks, and see if there’s some shelter we can use. Then I’ll be back, okay?”

He patted Malfoy’s shoulder again, and stood up. From what little he could tell, Malfoy’s injury wasn’t so bad that he would bleed out, so hopefully Harry would be able to fix him on his own. He just needed to get them somewhere so that he could have a proper look. He patted Malfoy on the shoulder again, and stood up, looking at the darker outline of the cliff behind them.

It seemed like it took hours of climbing over soft sand and crumbling rock, although Harry knew it had only been a few minutes by the time he found a little dip in the cliff face. He pulled his shrunken kit bag out of his pocket and withdrew his cloak, looking at it consideringly. By the time he’d finished transfiguring it, Harry had a small, slightly lopsided tent, standing in front of him. It listed slightly to the left, and there wouldn’t be much room inside, but Harry supposed it would have to do.

Malfoy was moaning quietly by the time Harry had managed to carry him up the incline and deposit him on the lightly cushioned floor of his transfigured tent, his brow furrowed and sweaty. Harry quickly conjured a ball of light and let it bob against the roof, so he could look at Malfoy’s wound properly for the first time. It really wasn’t that bad, he realised once he’d stripped Malfoy’s coat and jumper off and pulled his t shirt up to his armpits. It looked like he’d caught the tail end of a Severing Charm; the skin across the ribs on his left side was torn and bloody, but the muscles beneath remained undamaged. Harry healed the cuts with the emergency bottle of murtlap he kept in his kit, and then began looking for other injuries.

He found one, on the back of Malfoy’s head; a large lump and a few strands of blond hair coated in blood. Harry realised Malfoy must have hit his head when Harry had pushed him out of the way of the spell, knocking him out. He healed the cut quickly and smoothed Malfoy’s fringe away from his clammy forehead.

Malfoy groaned and shifted against him, eyelids fluttering. “Wha’ ‘appened?”

“We were attacked,” Harry said, relieved. He settled into a seated position and helped Malfoy sit up, leaning him back against his chest. “It’s possible I gave you a slight concussion.”

Malfoy twisted his body to look up at Harry. _“You’re_ the reason my head feels like it went twelve rounds with a troll?”

“Well, it was either that, or let you be hexed in half so, you know,” Harry shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

Malfoy’s hand went to his ribs, fingers skating gingerly over the newly healed skin. “Right, I remember. Thanks.” He raised his hand to Harry’s jaw, thumb smoothing over a bruise Harry could only just feel beginning to form. “You saved me,” Malfoy said quietly.

“Just doing my job,” Harry muttered, feeling his face heating up.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and then winced, and Harry wanted to kiss him. If he was honest, Harry always wanted to kiss Malfoy; it was like a low ache of want that he shoved deep down and carried everywhere with him, only really acknowledging it when they ran into each other at work. But right then, the adrenaline of them both nearly being killed, and the relief at finding Malfoy okay when for a moment on the beach Harry had thought he’d been too late… Harry _really_ wanted to kiss him.

But the moment had passed, because Malfoy’s hand was slipping from Harry’s cheek, his grey eyes taking on a glassy look, and he was mumbling about his head aching, and then he was sliding back into a healing sleep, still propped up against Harry’s chest. Harry ran his fingers through that soft pale hair once more, and then laid Malfoy carefully down on the ground next to him. He pulled over the blankets he’d transfigured out of the rest of his spare clothes and draped them over them both, before settling down for a few hours’ rest. He couldn’t quite stop himself from checking on Malfoy one more time however, and nor could he seem to stop himself from leaning over and placing a light kiss on Malfoy’s temple.

“Not sure that’s in your job description,” Malfoy muttered, his eyes still firmly closed. Harry’s breath caught in his throat in panic, but then he saw the corner of Malfoy’s mouth turn up. “I’d better be awake next time, Harry,” he said, almost inaudible.

Harry smiled, liking the way his name sounded when Malfoy said it. He lay down behind him, resting his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. “Go to sleep, Draco.”

Malfoy’s hand fluttered to the waistband of his jeans, and Harry had a moment to wonder exactly what he was doing before he was presented with a bunch of shrunken down and crumpled notes.

“Thank Merlin for paranoia,” Malfoy mumbled, already mostly asleep.

Harry looked down at the sheaf of parchment. It looked like Malfoy had kept all of his research notes stuffed down his trousers, instead of leaving them in the tent as Harry thought. He smiled at the blond head resting on his chest. _Clever Slytherin._

 

***

They’d landed in a place called Paracas, in Peru, Malfoy told Harry, once they’d both woken up with the dawn. They actually needed to be on an island called _Isla de Sangayan,_ but Malfoy had - in retrospect very wisely - decided to have their Portkey take them to just within range, instead of the exact place.

“It’s possible they may be tracking our Portkeys’ destinations somehow,” he said, and while Harry couldn’t think of a way to do that without official means, he didn’t disagree.

The attack in North Carolina had changed their working dynamic, in more ways than one. For a start, instead of the luxurious tent with a fully fitted kitchen and bathroom, they were stuck with Harry’s transfigured cloak, that he had only just managed to turn into a pop-up that they could barely fit into together. Harry didn’t mind the necessity for closeness; if the way his cheeks kept flushing pink every time they brushed bodies was any indication, Malfoy didn’t mind it either.

He _did_ mind the lack of bathroom, because they were both sweaty and dusty from the attack, and Harry had been looking forward to a shower. So it was with some relief that he noted the day had dawned bright and hot and reminded Malfoy that the Pacific Ocean was _right there._

“I am _not_ swimming in the sea,” Malfoy replied, a note of horror in his voice.

“It’s not a sea, it’s an _ocean,”_ Harry retorted, already slipping off his shoes and socks. “And I’m not going to swim, I’m just going to get cleaned off. Feel free to stay dirty, if you like.” And he quickly stripped down to his boxers, a gratified smirk sliding onto his face as he noted Malfoy staring at his arse.

That was another thing that had changed since their landing in Peru. Before, Harry had wondered if the looks he had sometimes received from Malfoy had held anything more than a willingness to work together. Now the looks came more often, lasted longer, showed more heat. Harry responded in kind, and he spent a lot of time while he cleaned up reminding himself that they were on a mission, and they needed to focus.

The lack of a fully stocked kitchen was the next thing they had to address. Harry waded out of the water to find Malfoy standing in the wash up to his knees, bending over to run wet fingers through his hair. Malfoy stood up straight, took one look at Harry in his wet and clinging boxers, and abruptly turned his back. “We need to find some food,” he said, making his way back onto the dry sand.

“I’ve got a few supplies in my kit,” Harry said, not very enthusiastic about the prospect. Auror kit rations tended to be made up of dried fruit and water, and neither tasted quite right. Harry had a feeling it was all the Shrinking and Unshrinking spells that were put on them; something had to be responsible for that slight metallic taste.

Malfoy acted as though he hadn’t heard him. “I suggest we Apparate into Ica. It’s a large enough town that we wouldn’t be easy to spot, and we can buy enough supplies to last us for the next couple of days. Besides, walking around for a bit will give my headache a chance to disappear, before I have to concentrate again.” He turned and fixed his gaze firmly on Harry’s forehead. “What do you think?”

“It sounds like a plan to me,” Harry said, pulling his clothes back on. His skin was still slightly damp, but the sun was already hot where it was peeking over the edge of the cliff top. “The only problem is currency. I have some gold in my kit, but I don’t even know what Peru uses for money, and I definitely don’t have any.”

“It’s _Nuevo Soles,_ but it’s not necessary; there’s a small wizarding community there, so we should be alright.”

Harry finished pulling on his trainers and quickly transfigured everything back to its original state and shoved it all into his bag. “Then let’s go, I’m starved,” he said, and held out his arm with a grin.

The biggest thing that had changed was Harry’s observation of their surroundings. He’d gone from thinking of the job as little more than babysitting, to suddenly seeing threats around every corner. He let Malfoy lead them to the wizarding quarter and buy them breakfast; rich filtered coffee and a _chicharron,_ a sandwich made up of pork, sweet potato slices and red onion, with a spicy dressing. It was good, almost good enough for Harry to forget about watching for spies and just give in to the party his tastebuds wanted to throw.

Malfoy led Harry to a couple of shops for them to buy a few supplies; fixings for tea and coffee and sandwiches. They didn’t bother buying anymore camping equipment, in case they were forced to move on again in a hurry, but Harry did top up his emergency medical supplies in his kit. Just in case.

After picking up a few _tamales_ and stuffing them in his bag for lunch, Malfoy Apparated them to their next location, _Isla De Sangayan._ Harry walked a wide perimeter while Malfoy set up his instruments, setting up various alarm spells that would alert them of any intruders well in advance. He paid no attention to what Malfoy was doing this time, and kept his eyes on the horizon, tense and ready for attack.

“Damn it,” Malfoy murmured, after a long silence between them. Harry spared him a brief glance before going back to his vigil. “There’s a vein that hasn’t been completely tapped, but if I take what we need, I’ll drain it completely.”

“Completely as in, forever?” Harry asked.

“Well, no. It’ll accumulate again eventually.” Malfoy sighed and started packing his bag. “But until it does, it’ll be harder for the wizarding population around here to do some spells.”

“Right.” Harry thought he remembered Malfoy mentioning something like that before. “How many more locations do we have on our list?”

“One,” Malfoy replied, an unhappy twist to his lips.

“Oh. What happens if we can’t find enough there either?”

“I guess we’ll have to figure out a way to go diving.”

Harry didn’t like the sound of that. Swimming underwater for an hour in the Great Lake had been bad enough; he didn’t fancy an extended stay beneath an entire _ocean._ He crossed his fingers while waiting for Malfoy to make their next Portkey, hoping they’d get lucky.

 

***

The province of Aysén, Chile, was absolutely beautiful. Early evening light scattered over lush green trees and strings of tiny ponds, cicadas chirping merrily in the brush where they landed. Harry and Malfoy had stuffed themselves with the still warm _tamales_ before leaving the circle of protective spells Harry had set up around them, landing just a few hundred meters away from their intended destination. As wary as Harry was about someone following their trail somehow, they were both tired and looking forward to this part of the mission being over. Now that they’d arrived at their last ley line intersection, if they found what they needed here, the next step would begin. If they didn’t, they would have to think again. Either way, a trip back home to regroup would be in order, and neither of them were inclined to wait until the following day, despite their weariness and hunger. Food and sleep could wait until they got back to London.

Malfoy led the way once more, with Harry watching their backs for any sign of their attackers. They hadn’t accosted them in Peru, and Harry was starting to wonder if the three men he’d fought in North Carolina had just been some random wizards, rather than the same contingent of new Death Eaters they’d overheard in Canada. Harry didn’t really believe in coincidences, though, so he kept himself alert for any danger. Including the small pools of water around them.

“Er, there aren’t any, I don’t know, alligators or piranhas here, are there?”

Malfoy stopped walking abruptly. “How the hell should I know?”

“I don’t know, you _know_ things!”

“I think I’m starting to understand why Hermione always has her nose stuck in a book,” Malfoy said, pinching the bridge of his nose and edging away from the pond closest to him. “It’s so she can answer all of your stupid questions.”

“It’s hardly a stupid question if neither of us knows the answer,” Harry replied hotly, but he also began edging away from the water. “Alright. Let’s just, let’s make sure we stay _away_ from the water, and don’t step on any logs, yeah?”

“Brilliant plan,” Malfoy muttered, but he began walking forwards again, placing each foot carefully.

“Well, this is fun,” Harry remarked, after an interminable time spent picking their way through the trees, the tension in his spine making his muscles ache and spasm.

“It was, before you started talking about _things that could kill us,”_ Malfoy said waspishly, but he turned just enough to catch Harry’s eye and a second later, they were grinning inanely at each other. It was possible that this mission was making them both slightly hysterical.

“Are we nearly there?” Harry asked, swearing under his breath when he tripped over a large root.

Malfoy checked his wand, then nodded. “Just a few more steps, and then I can set up.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when Malfoy finally indicated that they could stop, and leaned against a damp tree trunk to catch his breath. Despite it being the middle of winter back home, Chile was still warm under the canopy of trees there were trudging through. Harry had worked up a light sweat even before they’d started hiking, and now he was practically drenched. Malfoy wasn’t fairing much better; his pale hair had turned a golden blond and was sticking to his forehead, and the bright red of his cheeks for once had absolutely nothing to do with Harry’s proximity. Which was a bit of a shame, although it was still very nice to look at.

Harry looked around them while Malfoy worked, trying to find the right angle from which to take up his watch. Trees surrounded them on all sides, and Harry was reluctant to go and walk a perimeter, because that would mean leaving Malfoy out of his sight and vulnerable from other directions. If he could _see_ Malfoy, then he could at least shield him from anything before they managed to get away. So instead he walked a small circle around where Malfoy knelt with his instruments, peering through the rapidly darkening trees for a sign of anything coming. But there was nothing; even the cicadas had given up their song in favour of catching a few hours’ sleep.

Which was why he was taken completely by surprise when Malfoy let out a loud yell, and Harry jumped so high he fell over a fallen log and landed on his arse.

“What? What is it?” He asked, scrambling to get up and shining his wand around in a wide arc.

“Time! It’s here, and there’s lots of it!” Malfoy said, looking up at Harry. His eyes shone with excitement and triumph.

“Brilliant!” Harry smiled widely at him, then stopped, suddenly thinking of something rather important. “Er, how do we get it back home?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him. “Did you really think I would bring us all this way without thinking of that first? Please, Harry, some of us actually think about things occasionally.”

Harry’s insides squirmed happily at the use of his first name, the rest of the sentence completely passing him by. “Oh, good. Well, go on, then.”

“Thank you for your permission,” Malfoy - maybe Draco, now? Harry didn’t know if that was allowed - said drily, but he started rummaging in his bag. He brought out a weirdly shaped box; made of a bronze colour substance that seemed to ripple like liquid, it had more sides than Harry could count. He also thought it was emitting some kind of sound - Harry could feel a strange buzzing sensation in his bones.

He watched Draco - Harry decided it was okay if it was in his head - do something complicated with his wand, and looked on in fascination as something began to seep up from the mulchy ground beneath and slither soundlessly into the still closed box. A cloud was the only thing that Harry could think of to liken it to, although it didn’t really come close. The substance was pale, colourless except for the iridescent sparkles that snapped and flashed like electricity on the inside. Harry could only tell where the substance ended because of the slight fuzziness of reality around the edges; on the other side of the cloud, Harry could see the leaves on the ground, pale green, forest green, brown and black - it was like looking at birth, life and death all at once.

He was so entranced by the sight, and the look of awe on Draco’s face as he directed the cloud into the box, that he completely missed the sounds of movement behind him until they were completely surrounded.

“Well, well, look what we have here,” a snide voice said.

Harry whipped around. Next to him, Draco stood up slowly, and Harry felt him putting the box into his jeans pocket. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered. The three men who had been searching for them in Canada were standing in front of them, Hook Nose looking more than a little smug. Pockmark, the one who had announced their arrival, was looking at them with something Harry thought was unpleasant anticipation. Bowler Hat leaned against a tree, looking supremely bored. Harry wondered if he had another expression.

If it had just been the three of them, Harry might have tried to fight their way out. It would have been risky, but possible. He might have tried it, if it hadn’t been for the four others standing behind him. He needed another way out of this, and to find that, he had to stall. So he squared his shoulders, looked Hook Nose - obviously the leader - and spoke.

“Who are you? Have you been following us?”

Pockmark laughed nastily. “Like you didn’t know,” he said. He raised his wand at Draco, and Harry fought against the urge to jump in front of him. _Not yet, we need more time to think!_ “Almost had ‘im in the States, I did,” the man continued, confirming to Harry that they had been the same attackers all along, and looking pleased at another chance to hex Draco inside out.

“That’s enough, Mendler,” Hook Nose said sharply, and Harry filed the name away for future reference. For when Draco was safe and Harry could hunt these bastards down. Hook Nose stepped forward, holding his arms out to his sides, a smile on his face that would have been charming if he didn’t reek with danger. “Mr Potter, I want to apologise for bringing you into this mess; it was my intention to have another Auror escort Mr Malfoy on his mission. I have no wish to harm you.”

“Your intention?” Harry questioned. “What did you have to do with an Auror being assigned to this mission?”

“Well,” said Hook Nose jovially, as though they were having a pleasant chat down the local pub, “I hadn’t been planning on an Auror escort at all, but Fredericks _insisted_ that this would give us the perfect opportunity to get rid of you at the same time.”

“No,” Draco whispered, next to him. Harry shifted, brushing his fingers against the back of Draco’s hand in comfort.

Hook Nose lifted his hands in front of him. “That’s not my intention here, though, Mr Potter.” He laughed lightly. “After all, once we have Mr Malfoy’s research, you’ll cease to become a problem for us completely pretty soon.”

So it had been Fredericks all along, Harry realised, feeding them information about where Harry and Draco would be headed. Draco must have written down some clues for them to follow in his notes in his office, and Fredericks had been the one to break in and read them. And that was why they hadn’t been followed to Peru - they must have been spending that time breaking through Harry’s wards on the abandoned tent, hoping that Draco’s research would have been left there. Now they had to know that Draco carried them on his person wherever he went, and there was no way they were going to let them go without a fight. Harry had to find them a way out of there, he _had to…_

And then he remembered what he still had in his pocket; the extra metal ring from the lighthouse.

Harry made a show of lowering his wand, placing it tip down in his pocket, grazing the edge of the metal disk. “So, you’re saying that if I just give you Malfoy, you’ll let me go?”

Hook Nose smiled, looking as though he’d already won. “Of course, Mr Potter. Do we have an agreement?”

Harry turned his head, pretending to appraise Draco, catching his eye and pleading with him to go along with it. Draco’s eyes widened, but then he dipped his chin fractionally, signalling that he understood.

“Tell me, Potter,” Draco said in a drawl, but still letting some of his fear colour his tone. “How did you ever pass the Auror exam? Because you are _shit_ at it.”

“Hey, I’m not the one trusting bloody Death Eaters,” Harry bit back, all the while trying to think of someplace back home where they would be _safe._ Not the Ministry, obviously. The Manor was out (and Harry had no desire to go back to that place ever again; he didn’t even know if Draco still lived there) for similar reasons, as was his own flat. He couldn’t go to any of his friends; even if they weren’t already being watched, just in case, he didn’t want to bring this to their doorsteps…

“You’re trusting one now,” Draco shouted back. “Do you really think he’s just going to let you go?”

Where could he send them? Where could they go that nobody would think to look for for them… A memory came to him suddenly, Hermione saying, _”It was the first place I could think of…”_ and he silently added it to the Portus spell he was creating in his pocket. He’d never done it wordlessly before, and he _certainly_ hadn’t done it blind. He could only hope it worked…

He sneered at Draco, then turned to Hook Nose. “Am I allowed to punch him? Just once before I leave you to it?”

And then he pulled the Portkey out of his pocket, said the last word to activate it, and threw himself at Draco. The ring glowed a bright blue, there were shouts and hexes blasted in their direction, and Harry felt a searing pain shoot through the arm holding onto the ring. And then they were pulled away, all the way back to England.

Harry fell to his knees the moment his feet touched the frost covered ground. They were still surrounded by trees, but these were bare and cold, a thin covering of ice over everything. It was pitch black, England was five hours ahead of Chile, so it had to be the middle of the night. Draco was next to him, leaning on his knees to catch his breath, muttering words Harry couldn’t make out. And that was all he could register, because then the pain hit, so deep and all encompassing that he retched, bringing up the last of his stomach contents in a thin, watery dribble. He collapsed onto the ground whimpering, he’d _never…_ Oh God, _what was happening to him?_

“Potter? Harry, what… Oh my God, Harry!” Draco pulled at his left arm, and Harry shrieked, the sound tearing up his throat as his entire left side burned with ice cold flames. “Shit, I need to… Harry, we have to- Where the fuck are we?”

Harry reached out with his right arm; it glanced off of Draco’s shoulder and flopped back to the ground. “Forest-” he whispered, fighting the blackness encroaching on his vision, “Forest of- of Dean…” But the darkness rolled over him, sucking him down into its depths, to the sound of Draco’s voice and “Harry? Harry! HARRY!”

 

***

Harry fought blindly, clawing his way up through the dark of unconsciousness, scrabbling to hold on to something that would keep him there. He had to stay awake, he _had_ to, because there was something wrong with his arm, something painful and dark and evil. And it was spreading, he could feel it, feel the cold needles burrowing their way through his skin right down to the bone, crawling inexorably towards the rest of him. It was trying to swallow him whole, and he needed to be awake so that he could stop it.

The ceiling swam and dipped above him as he forced his eyes open. He didn’t recognise it, didn’t recognise the way his breaths sounded loud and echoing in the white room. He spared a moment to wonder how he had got here, _where_ he had got here from, but then the pain hit, and he had no energy for anything else.

It was a pain like nothing he had ever felt before, not from regrowing bones, not from the Cruciatus Curse, not from when he thought his head would split apart from his scar outwards. He could _feel_ himself being ripped open, fingers drowning in ice cold waves of excruciating pain, skin splitting as it travelled up his arm. The pain took his breath away, forced him to bite down on his tongue, blood filling his mouth and making him choke. A small part of him knew that he’d bitten straight through, but he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel anything except his arm being flayed apart. He moaned deep in his throat, tried to roll his head to look. He knew it would be bad, but he couldn’t fix it if he couldn’t _look._

“Salazar, he’s waking up,” a strange voice said, and through the haze of pain Harry felt a light pressure on his shoulder. “You have to hold him down, he’s moving too much.”

“He’s in pain,” said a more familiar voice, and Harry turned towards it instinctively. “Can’t you give him something for it?”

“I need to stop the curse first, I don’t have time. It’s moving straight towards his heart.”

Another flare of pain just beneath his shoulder had Harry crying out. He kicked his legs and tried tried to roll over, to shield his left arm. If he could cover it, maybe the pain would go away.

“Fuck! _Draco!_ I said _hold him down!”_

Pressure came down on the right side of his body, pulling him away from the pain in his left. Hands cupped his jaw, trying to turn his head away, but Harry’s eyes had found where the pain was coming from and he resisted, staring down in horror. His hand was a mass of congealing blood and pools of inky black smoke. Strips of minced flesh sat where his fingers had once been, an explosion of meat and bone and mangled skin. His arm had split open to the elbow, bone and flesh indistinguishable from the mess of blood and shredded skin. As he watched, a thin line of red appeared on his shoulder, black smoke seeping through before the gash tore wider, slicing down straight to the bone. He cried out as the agony hit him all over again, and the pressure on his jaw increased.

“Potter,” the familiar voice murmured. A thumb caressed Harry’s cheekbone. “Look at me, Harry. You’re going to be alright, Theo’s going to fix you. You just have to hold on a little longer.”

Harry turned towards the voice, concentrated on the warmth of the fingers cradling his face. He blinked away the tears gathering in his eyes, not caring when they slipped over his lower lashes, wetting those warm fingertips still moving comfortingly over his cheeks. Blond hair came into view, silky strands slipping over a pale and furrowed brow. Dark blond lashes framed wide, frightened grey eyes. Flushed cheeks and a red mouth, moving constantly around whispered words of comfort completed the picture, and Harry groaned, reaching out his remaining hand to grip tight.

The image was enough to knock Harry from the haze of pain that was threatening to drown him, to let him take stock of their situation. They were in a Healer’s office, if the shelves filled with potions and contraptions was any indication. Harry was lying on some kind of hard surface, a pillow shoved haphazardly beneath his head. Draco sat crouched over him, one knee pressed on top of Harry’s right thigh, keeping him flat on his back. His other knee was shoved tightly against Harry’s ribs, and an elbow dug almost painfully into his solar plexus, holding Harry down. Harry moaned and tried to open his mouth, to ask Draco how they got there, but Draco smoothed his thumb once more over Harry’s cheekbone, quieting him.

“Shh, Harry, it’s okay. Just a little longer, and we’ll give you something for the pain. Just hold on for me.”

Harry tried to nod, to say that he understood, and gripped his fingers tighter in Draco’s blood-stained robes. From his left he could hear someone murmuring something, words he couldn’t understand in a strange lilting tone. He wanted to look, but he dreaded what he might see, so he kept his gaze firmly pinned on Draco’s own.

“Okay,” said the stranger, after what seemed an interminably long time. “I’ve managed to stop the curse. Now I can see to his pain.”

“Hurry,” Draco said, not taking his eyes from Harry’s face.

“He’s bitten through his tongue, I’ll have to administer the potion directly.”

“Whatever you have to do, just do it quickly!”

A sharp and deep stab in his left thigh had Harry arching up against Draco again, gasping in pain, but moments later, a sense of warm comfort drifted outwards from the spot, numbing him all the way down to his toes. “Mmm.” He felt his entire body relax into the table, his bones turning squishy. His head felt as though it was floating on a cloud of cotton, and he smiled up at Draco. “Tha’ feels good.”

Draco let out a laugh, a slightly hysterical note to it. “I bet it does. Theo’s pain potions are highly effective.”

“‘S’good,” Harry slurred, patting Draco’s chest. “Thank ‘m f’me.”

“You can thank him yourself, he’s right next to you.”

Harry shook his head, because he didn’t want to look to his left; there was something there that he didn’t want to see. His brain knocked around lazily with the movement, sending the room into a pleasantly slow spinning motion. He kept it up, and Draco’s fingers clenched around his jaw.

“Harry? What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing,” said the stranger, sounding distracted. “He’s just really high. Which is good, because this is going to take me a while. You should have taken him to the hospital.”

“We couldn’t.”

“I know, you said. It’s going to take a hell of alot longer with just me, is all I’m saying.”

“You know I appreciate it, Theo.”

“Just remember that you’ll owe me big if Daphne finds out I lied to her tonight.”

“Your elbow is really pointy,” Harry said.

“My… What? Oh.” Draco smiled down at him, which Harry liked, and shifted off the the table, which Harry didn’t like so much.

“No, don’t go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” Harry pouted slightly, blinking up at Draco.

“I promise,” Draco said, looking slightly confused. “Shut up,” he said, when a snort of laughter came from the other side of Harry.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Only that it’s nice to know my friend has a fan.”

“He’s high, like you said. He doesn’t mean it, so just forget anything you hear.” Draco’s voice was sharp, insistent. Harry rather liked it.

“Time was, you would have held this over him for years.”

“Yes, well, that was then.”

“And things are different now?”

Draco looked down at Harry. Harry smiled up at him. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

His voice was quiet, his grey eyes dark and shuttered. Harry didn’t like it. He frowned up at Draco and reached out for him. “I want to…” His hand wasn’t cooperating properly; it felt fuzzy, disconnected. Harry mumbled, irritated, “Stupid hand.”

“Are you still in pain?” Draco asked, sliding his fingers through Harry’s, giving him what he wanted and making Harry smile.

Harry thought hard on his answer. His left arm and shoulder burned slightly, the rest of his body pleasantly numb. Every so often, he felt a tight pinch that travelled up to the base of his skull, making him suck in a gasping breath. But the warmth of Draco’s fingers in his and the glow of his white blond hair and pale skin above him made everything else fade into background noise, so Harry smiled wider and shook his head. “Nothing hurts when you’re here.”

Another snort sounded from his left, but Harry ignored it; he was too entranced by the light pink flush creeping over Draco’s cheeks. “You’re so pretty when you blush,” he said, and laughed delightedly when the pink deepened.

“Things no self-respecting man ever wants to hear,” the voice on his left commented.

“Spoken like every straight man uncomfortable in his own masculinity,” Draco retorted, but his eyes never left Harry’s face.

Harry waved his arm between them, fascinated for a moment in the way it flopped about; it looked like there were three of them. “Not pretty like a _girl,_ pretty like a _boy,”_ he said, clarifying. Because Draco was most definitely a boy, with his wide shoulders and trimmer hips, the flat planes of his chest and the sharp lines of his jaw. But he was also _pretty,_ with his pale skin and blond hair, his slim fingers and thick eyelashes. “You’re like an elf,” Harry said happily, smiling contentedly.

The stranger to his left laughed loudly at this, and Draco’s face took on an outraged look. “Did you just liken me to a _house elf?”_

“No no no!” Harry frowned; this wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. “Like the elves in that movie, you know, the one with the ring and the little people with hairy feet.”

“Huh. I can see that, actually,” said the stranger. He grunted a little, and Harry felt another of those pinches in the back of his skull.

“What is he talking about?”

“It’s a Muggle movie, Daphne made me take her to see it a few months back. You’d look quite a bit like that elf, Draco. If you grew your hair long and learned how to shoot an arrow.”

Draco snorted delicately. “No thanks, I look enough like my father already.”

Harry shook his head, disagreeing. “No, you’re beautiful. Especially when you smile.”

“Wow. Do I need to give you two the room?”

“Shut up, Theo. He doesn’t mean what he’s saying.”

“Sounds like he does,” the stranger said, at the same time as Harry said, “Yes I do.”

Draco ran his tongue across his lips. Once more, Harry wanted to know what they tasted like, and he wanted to know _now._ “Kiss me,” he said suddenly, voice echoing off the walls of the otherwise quiet room.

_"What?”_

“Please?” Harry wheedled. “You’re so pretty, I bet you taste so sweet.”

“Oh my god,” the stranger murmured, and another pinching pain travelled up Harry’s spine.

He ignored it, leaning up as far as he could off the table, towards Draco. “Come on, just one little kiss? Like in the tent, I kissed you when you were hurt.”

“Did he now?”

“Shut _up,_ Theo. Harry, you need to lie still.”

But Harry didn’t want to lie still, he wanted to stand up and press himself along the long line of Draco’s chest, wanted to lick his way past those red, wet lips, wanted to dip his thumb into the hollow beneath Draco’s jaw and feel his pulse as it pounded. He struggled against the hands holding onto his left arm, ignoring the curses the stranger let out, and tried to swing his legs over the side of the table. His right hand was still clenched in Draco’s, and Harry used it to drag him closer.

“For Salazar’s sake, Draco! He’s going to undo all of my work so far if he keeps moving like this, just fucking kiss him already!”

“I can’t,” Draco said, pulling his fingers out of Harry’s grip and using them to push Harry back onto his back. Harry grabbed onto his robes again and brought him down with him, grinning a little when Draco offered up little resistance. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“It’s the same as him being drunk, Draco, and that’s never bothered you before.”

“It bothers me when it’s him,” Draco said quietly.

Harry stopped squirming to look up at him. Who was this person Draco was thinking about, and why did he sound sad? Harry would never want Draco to be sad; his smile was the prettiest thing Harry had ever seen. “You don’t want to kiss me.” He jumped when Draco smoothed his fingers over his cheek.

“It’s not that, Harry,” Draco replied, and Harry frowned, wondering if he’d said that out loud or if Draco was reading his mind.

“Are you a leligi- a legimil- Can you read minds?”

“Can I _what?_ Oh, for- Theo, how much longer is this going to take?”

“It’s going to be a while yet, so if you need a witness to say that you didn’t go too far, then fine, just keep him still! Better yet-” An arm wrapped in pale green robes hovered over the table for a moment, and then withdrew. “There, now you can lie next to him and keep him occupied while I work. Just don’t do anything that involves too much moving.”

Draco sighed and got up onto the magically expanded table, laying down next to Harry, who offered up half of his pillow for Draco to share. This close, Draco’s eyelashes looked impossibly long, and Harry wondered what they would feel like, fluttering against his own cheek. “They don’t deserve you,” he told Draco firmly.

“Who doesn’t?” Draco asked, a line appearing between his brows. Harry reached up to smooth it with his thumb.

“Whoever it is that makes you sad. I wouldn’t make you sad.” Draco laughed, the tone a little disbelieving, and Harry covered his mouth with his own fingers. “I wouldn’t,” he insisted. “I’d kiss you, and I’d keep on kissing you until you couldn’t even remember why you were sad in the first place.” He pursed his lips in thought. “Or I could do other things,” he said, and Draco’s eyes widened.

“Oh, do tell us more.”

“Theo-”

“Sorry, sorry. Pretend I’m not even here.”

“Hard to do with your constant commentary.”

Harry tapped his fingers against Draco’s chin, bringing his focus back to himself. “What things could I do to make you happy?”

“You could stop talking like this when we have an audience,” Draco said, an embarrassed flush pinking his cheeks.

Harry nodded, accepting this. “Will you tell me when we’re alone?”

“Harry-”

“Hold that thought, because I think I’m nearly done.” There was a strange pulling sensation all along Harry’s arm, right down to his fingertips, and then the feel of something cool and dry wrapping around it. “Yep, I’m finished. He’s going to have to keep his arm still for a few hours, and I can’t guarantee there won’t be any scarring, but the curse is gone and the Reparation Charm is doing its job.”

“Brilliant,” said Harry, still looking at Draco. “Does that mean you can kiss me now?”

“Aaaand I’m out of here. Try to get some rest, I’ll be back in a few hours to check on the healing progression.”

Draco raised his head off the pillow. “Theo-”

“Don’t worry. No one knows you’re here, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

“Thank you, Theo.”

“Save it until after you’ve heard what I’ll want in return.”

There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and then the lights dimmed slightly around them. Harry sighed, glad that the constant pulling and prodding at his arm had stopped. It still burned slightly hot, and his fingers were tingling, but the pinching pain had stopped, and the heat was soothing rather than distracting.

Draco turned to Harry, reaching up to slide his fingers through Harry’s hair. “You should get some sleep,” he said, with a small smile. “Healer’s orders.”

“Kiss me first,” Harry said, adamant.

Draco sighed. “Harry, you don’t know what you’re saying, you don’t really want-”

“Just once,” Harry interrupted, pleading slightly. “You won’t have to do it again, I just want to know what it’s like, to kiss you.”

Draco looked at him for a long moment, biting down on his bottom lip. Then, “If you punch me in the morning, I’m going to hex your bollocks off.”

And then his lips were pressed against Harry’s, and they were just as soft as Harry had imagined. Harry slid his hand around to the back of Draco’s neck, holding on in case Draco got any ideas about moving away before Harry had tasted every part of Draco’s mouth. He licked along the seam of Draco’s lips and had to control his triumphant smile when he opened for him. Draco’s tongue was soft and velvety smooth, tentative against Harry’s for a moment, until Harry felt a groan tremble up through Draco’s throat and he was moving, body pressing in a long line against Harry’s side, hand coming up to fist in Harry’s t shirt, mouth moving insistently against his. Harry opened his mouth wider, coaxed Draco’s tongue inside and then sucked on it, delighting when Draco made a little noise in the back of his throat and pushed closer. His leg slid over Harry’s, and he felt something hard press up firmly against his hip.

He let go of Draco’s neck, confident now that he would stay where he was, and slid his hand down between them. His fingers fumbled at Draco’s belt, getting all the way to undoing the zipper before Draco broke the kiss, ducking his head down to Harry’s shoulder, hand grabbing at his wrist to still his movement.

“Harry,” he whispered, breath hot on the skin of Harry’s neck. “You shouldn’t… It was meant to be just a kiss…”

“Just let me,” Harry murmured back, turning as much as he could so he could find Draco’s mouth again. He should always be kissing Draco. “You don’t have to… Just let me feel you.”

Draco sighed again, but he raised his chin so that Harry could kiss him again, and his fingers loosened their grasp on Harry’s wrist. Harry pushed his fingers inside, scrabbled at the waistband of Draco’s boxers until he could wrap them firmly around his length. He was hot and hard, silk covered steel, and Draco moaned into Harry’s mouth at the first firm pull upwards. Harry swallowed the sound, thumbed the leaking tip and spread the moisture back down, slicking him up for an easier ride. Draco’s hips began moving erratically, jolting forwards for more pressure, only to stop suddenly, as though he was unsure what was happening. Harry didn’t want that; he wanted Draco happy, he wanted him smiling that beautiful smile, he wanted him to _want_ this as much as Harry did. He kissed him harder, timing the thrusting of his tongue to the pumping of his hand, the pulse of his blood speeding up the more Draco relaxed into it, until he was fucking into Harry’s hand and Harry thought his chest would explode with pride and relief.

“Come on,” he whispered, trailing his mouth down over Draco’s chin and biting into the pale skin of his neck. “Come on, come for me, let me feel it.” He licked his way round to under Draco’s ear and bit down, sucking a bruise into the heated flesh. “You’re blushing again, you’re so pretty when you blush. Does it go all the way down? I bet it does, I bet you flush a beautiful pink all the way down to your cock-”

“Oh fuck,” Draco whispered, his eyes clenched shut, and Harry leaned back to watch his expression.

Draco’s eyes clenched tightly shut, head thrown back and giving Harry a perfect view of the bruises he’d left on his neck, lips red and open over a moan that seemed to come all the way from his toes. Harry felt the first pulse of Draco’s release, slipping down over his fingers as he continued to work him, needing to feel every moment of it. He kept moving until Draco’s head flopped back down onto Harry’s shoulder and he hissed a sensitive breath through his teeth. Harry let him go carefully, extracted his hand and brought it slowly up to his mouth, licking it clean without a second’s thought.

“Oh fuck,” Draco repeated, watching Harry with wide eyes. “You’re going to kill me in the morning.”

Harry hummed in disagreement and slipped his fingers from his mouth. “Don’t think so.”

Draco frowned, but instead of arguing, he said,“You really should get some sleep, you know.”

He made a move as if to get up, and Harry gripped his knee tight, where it was resting across Harry’s hips. “No, don’t go away.”

“I won’t, Harry.” Draco’s hand slipped down to tangle their fingers together, and Harry relaxed. “I promise.”

 

***

Harry woke up to a pain potion induced headache and an large bed that was empty except for him. He sat up slowly, wincing at the pins and needles making themselves at home in his left arm. He looked down at himself with trepidation, still expecting to see his left side completely mangled. He was pleasantly surprised at what he saw instead. True, his t shirt was ripped to shreds, and his chest was streaked with dried blood. His jeans had been soaked in the thick liquid, and they now clung unpleasantly to his waist and thighs. But his arm was still there, and seemed to be in one piece again, from what he could see under the strips of gauze that wrapped around him from shoulder to fingertips. Harry lifted his arm experimentally, and smiled when it caused him no more pain than that of a limb waking up after an uncomfortable sleep.

Harry swung his legs off the side of the bed, pulling a face at the state of his clothes. His shoes had been removed for him at some point, and his socks slipped on the cool white tiles beneath him. The room around him was uncluttered and sterile, white walls and stainless steel surfaces. It was smaller than the ones Harry had seen in St Mungo's, and he guessed it must be the operation room for a private practice, rather than an actual hospital. Harry frowned, trying to remember how he had got here. He remembered he and Draco being attacked, feeling the damp heat of Chile surrounding them, making them sweat and shiver at the same time. He remembered seeing his arm, or what _had_ been his arm, and he remembered the pain, Merlin _so much pain._ He remembered Draco holding his face and smiling down at him, remembered smiling back as the agony leeched blessedly away, remembered…

Harry turned to stare at the other side of the bed, its emptiness causing panic to crawl up his throat. Had Draco run off?

Harry jumped out of bed and stopped as the room spun slightly in front of him. He blinked hard; he needed to find Draco. He crossed the room in a lurching gait, thinking that whatever pain potion he’d been given was much stronger than any he had come across at St Mungo's. The door opened onto a plushly carpeted hallway. Harry looked up and down it. He could see what looked like a reception and waiting room at one end, so he turned the other way, pausing every now and then to listen for noises through the closed doors he passed. Right at the end, he heard quiet conversation, and what sounded like the clinking of cutlery. He pushed open the door to the smell of frying bacon, and his stomach rumbled loudly.

“Aha, my patient awakes,” said a voice, and Harry turned towards it. Theo Nott was standing next to a stove, pushing bacon slices around in a pan, a knife buttering bread on the counter next to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Er, good,” Harry said, voice scratchy and weak. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for helping me,” he tried again.

“It’s Draco you should thank. If he hadn’t gotten you here as quickly as he did, I’m not sure I would have been of much help.”

Harry looked over to the table, relief coursing through him at the sight of Draco still there, still where Harry could protect him. Not that he’d been doing much protecting during the last few hours.

“Hungry?” Nott asked, sliding a bacon sandwich and a mug of tea onto the table across from Draco.

Draco, who had gone completely still the moment Harry had walked into the room, staring fixedly at his own half eaten breakfast.

“How about I leave the two of you to talk, and then I can check on your arm afterwards?” Nott pulled out a chair and gestured for Harry to sit down, not waiting for an answer before slipping quickly out of the room.

Harry wasn’t sure what to do. Draco still hadn’t looked at him, but Harry was hungry, and the bacon sandwich smelled delicious. He ate a few bites ravenously, wiped the butter off his chin with his sleeve. “‘S’good,” he mumbled around another mouthful, for want of anything else to say.

The words seemed to unfreeze Draco; he sat up straighter and began stirring his tea. “Yet another thing Theo was always good at,” he said, looking down into the small whirlpool he was creating in the pale brown liquid.

“It was a good idea of yours to come here,” harry said quietly, wondering how he could make this any more awkward.

Draco seemed to have an idea, however. He sighed through his nose, then looked up, meeting Harry’s gaze unflinchingly. “Look, if you’re going to hex me, or hit me, or whatever, could you just get on with it? Because the waiting is unfairly painful.”

“Why would I hit you?” Harry was nonplussed.

Draco winced. “Because of, you know, what happened, when- when you were…” He trailed off, and his hand did a funny little movement, and Harry’s eyes widened.

“Wait,” Harry said, really confused now. “You think _I_ would want to hit _you_ for what happened last night?”

“You were high on pain potions,” Draco said unhappily. “And despite how we’ve been-” He broke off, looking up at the ceiling as though he would find the right words written up there for him, “-Getting _closer,_ the last few days, I know you wouldn’t actually _want-”_

“Draco.” Harry cut him off. because _no._ “I’ve been wanting to do that since we first set off on this job. And,” he added, because in for a knut, in for a galleon, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for longer than that, so out of the two of us, it’s not _me_ who might have a problem with last night.”

Draco’s mouth opened, then shut again, that little wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows.

“Okay?” Harry asked, and they both knew that he was asking more than just if Draco understood him.

Draco nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Suddenly feeling much better, Harry picked up his sandwich and took another massive bite.

Draco picked up his tea and took a sip. “We need to figure out what to do next. We can’t stay here much longer, someone will think of my connection to Theo at some point.”

“You and Theo?” Harry didn’t like the sound of that.

Draco rolled his eyes, but his cheeks took on a slightly pinker colour. “Not in the way you’re thinking,” he said, and the tightness in Harry’s chest eased slightly. “This is Theo’s private Healer practice. Which I financed.”

“You did?”

Draco shrugged. “It was a sound business investment. Theo’s good at what he does. But the point is, eventually someone is going to find that out, and they could come looking for us here.” He bit his lip, looking worried.

Harry nodded. He’d had the same problem when he had been trying to think of a place they could go to from Chile. “We’re going to have to lie low for a bit, while we think of a plan. Fredericks obviously wants your research desperately; he’s not going to stop until he’s got his hands on it.”

“That bastard,” Draco said bitterly. “I can’t believe I trusted him.”

“Maybe you didn’t.”

“What do you mean?"

Harry shrugged. “Well, _something_ told you not to reveal all of your research to him, even though he’s your superior. Maybe there was a part of you that _didn’t_ trust him, not completely.”

Draco sat back in his chair consideringly. “Perhaps you have a point.”

“That’s not important now, anyway,” Harry said. “What we need to do now is work out a way to catch him. Hook Nose will have told him we escaped by now, and he’ll have made sure to get rid of any evidence against him.”

“Hook Nose?”

Harry waved his hand. “You know, the smarmy guy in charge, back in Chile.” He pursed his lips in thought. “He kind of reminded me of Snape.”

“Careful,” Draco said with a light smile. “That’s a war hero you’re maligning there.”

“Doesn’t take away from all his smarmy git-ness,” Harry retorted, grinning unrepentantly. “Anyway, what we have to work out is how to get at him.” He glared down at his still bandaged hand. “If I’d been a bit faster, we could have gone straight to the Ministry and caught him before he managed to get rid of anything.”

“Maybe,” Draco said slowly, “We still could.”

“What?”

Draco reached down into his pocket, and pulled out the strange little box. He slid it onto the table between them. “I could make a Time-Turner.”

Harry stared from the box to Draco. “Could you do it? Your research was only about fixing the ones that were broken, not making a brand new one.”

“I studied them enough. I’m fairly sure I could create one.”

“That… That might work,” Harry said, feeling a little tingle of excitement. It felt good to be on the offence, for a change.

“I’d need somewhere to work though,” Draco said. “It might take me a couple of days to do it properly, including testing. And I’ll need to get my hands on some parts.”

Harry had a sudden brainwave. “The Hogs Head,” he said decisively. “Aberforth won’t mind hiding us up in one of his rooms for a few days, and it won’t look suspicious if he gets anything delivered.”

Draco looked at him across the table. “Are we really going to do this?”

Harry smiled back at him. “Let’s get these bastards.”

 

***

True to form, Aberforth was as grumpy as a hippogriff, but amenable. He muttered under his breath about the rudeness of people who kept Apparating straight into his bar, clearing up the bottle he’d dropped when Harry and Draco had appeared out of nowhere. Then he fixed Harry with a look and said, “Isn’t it about time you got yourself a _life,_ instead of all this running and hiding?”

Harry bit back a grin. “Maybe I just like the adrenaline rush, Abe, ever thought of that?”

Aberforth peered at him closer, looking him up and down. “I reckon you do, boy. You’re all… twinkly.” His eyes slid to Draco. “Just the one room you’ll be wanting, is it?”

Harry blushed, and thought about correcting Aberforth’s assumption, before thinking that maybe it wasn’t an assumption at all. At least, he hoped it wasn’t. “Yes please,” he said instead, determinedly not looking to see Draco’s reaction. Even if he was wrong, they still needed to stay close together until this was finished. “And we’d appreciate it if we could use your owl for a few deliveries.”

Aberforth tucked them away in one of the larger rooms, one of two right on the top floor. It was a good choice, even if the other room was already occupied; the slanted roof meant that the windows pointed up towards the sky, reducing the amount of people able to look inside. Harry shut the blinds anyway, just in case. It had a table and two armchairs, where Draco immediately began unloading his shoulder bag, which he had miraculously managed to keep ahold of when they had made their escape from Chile.

There was also one, very big, bed. Harry looked at it nervously, before turning his back on it and sitting in the armchair closest to the fire. With Christmas just a few days away, Hogsmeade was covered in snow and the cold creeped in through every window and door. Maybe he and Draco would have to snuggle to keep warm during the night. He snuck a look at the bed again. A loud bump came from the room opposite, and Harry jumped, then cleared his throat.

“If you make a list of the things you think you’ll need, I’ll go down and send Aberforth’s owl to Wiseacre’s.”

Draco grabbed a quill and some parchment and scribbled quickly. “Get some lunch, too,” he said, handing the list over.

Harry went down to the bar, stopping to listen at the door for any customers. He didn’t think that anyone could have followed them here - not even Theo Nott knew where they had been heading when they left - but as they didn’t know exactly who was involved in this new group of Death Eaters, the fewer people who saw either of them, the better.

He listened to Aberforth’s grumbling without complaint as he added a few galleons to Draco’s order and gave it to the barn owl perched on the back of one of the bar stools. The bird flew off through the window Aberforth held open for her, cuffing him over the head with her wing affectionately.

“What have you got for lunch, Abe?”

“There’s a couple of steak and ale pies waiting for you in the kitchen,” Aberforth said gruffly, wiping his dirty rag over the grubby bar top. “And you’ll be wanting to get upstairs with ‘em quick sharpish, I reckon. The lunchtime rush’ll be starting soon.”

The lunchtime _rush_ at the Hogs Head was unlikely to be more than half a dozen people, but Harry agreed with the sentiment. He thanked Aberforth, accepting the bottles of butterbeer the old man floated towards him, directing the pies up to the room with his wand. A muffled cry came through the ceiling a moment later, and Harry suspected he might have just spilled gravy over Draco’s research notes.

“Oops.”

The rest of the day passed quietly, once they’d eaten their lunch. After nearly two days of eating on the run, the plates piled high with flaky pastry, sumptuous meat, rich gravy and buttery mashed potatoes felt like one of Hogwarts’ feast suppers. Harry Banished the empty plates back down to the kitchen and left Draco to his notes, still surprisingly gravy free, and lay back on the bed, rubbing his full belly.

As Draco read and reread his research, Harry studied his left arm. Nott had really done a fantastic job. Harry had recognised the spell he’d been hit with; a dark hex that had been designed to cause as much pain and torture as possible as it worked its way towards the victim’s heart, before cutting it out. It had come to light fairly recently, and the Wizengamot had been discussing whether it should be made an Unforgivable. Harry wondered now if this new dark spell should have been seen as a sign of an emergence of more Death Eaters.

Harry had seen the effects on a few victims, and he knew how it could have ended. He and Ron had been called to a crime scene a few weeks ago, only to find a mass of congealed blood and gore where a person had once lain. They’d both lost their breakfast in the bushes nearby.

According to the Healers and Unspeakables working on it, the spell wasn’t too difficult to stop, as long as they got to the victim in time. What was tricky, apparently, was stopping the patient from going into shock from the pain before they managed to make the curse reverse itself. It usually took a team of Healers to stop it completely, so Harry knew that with just Nott and Draco there, he had been incredibly lucky.

After they’d finished breakfast, Nott had unbandaged Harry’s arm, and rubbed a salve that smelled like fish into his skin, from the top of his shoulder all the way down to the tips of his fingers. His arm was riddled with bright red lines still, like a roadmap of veins. Some of the smaller ones were already starting to turn a bright pink though, so Harry figured that most of them would eventually fade into silvery scars to match the rest he had accumulated throughout the years. The thought didn’t bother him; he still had his arm, and he was thankful for it. One of the previous victims who had lived had lost his leg.

He had a long, leisurely shower once the sky outside began to darken, letting the water beat the tension out of his back and shoulders. He hated this part, the waiting. If Ron were here, he’d be setting up a game of chess or exploding snap, or starting up a conversation about Quidditch that would have Harry ranting about the latest referee injustice until he forgot that he was supposed to be pacing a hole in the floor while they waited.

But Draco was too involved in his notes, going over everything again and again, to make sure he knew what to do, to be able to take Harry’s mind off the waiting. Harry didn’t mind; he knew how important it was that Draco do this right, because messing with Time had serious consequences. He didn’t mind the long periods of time he got to spend just sitting there, watching, either. He could do without the constant banging and the occasional muffled shout from the occupants next door, though. Clearly someone was enjoying themselves. He tried his best to tune them out, watching Draco instead.

He found his thoughts drifting towards the future, of him and Draco in a room just like this. It would be better furnished, of course, because Harry couldn’t imagine Draco living anywhere without furniture shipped in straight from France. Or Italy. Or wherever it was that made expensive furniture, anyway, Harry had no idea. Harry would be content to come home after a hard day at work, and relax into a comfy bed or sofa and watch Draco as he was now, poring over scattered pieces of parchment, teeth digging into his bottom lip in concentration, ink spattered over his fingers from his feverishly written notes.

And Harry wanted that, wanted it even more than he wanted to drag Draco over to the bed and take him apart piece by tantalising piece, to watch him gasp and flush and moan like he had the night before with Harry’s hand on him. Harry wanted that so much he felt as though he was burning up with the need, and he had no idea what Draco wanted.

Had last night been it? Would it happen again, but just while they were working on bringing Fredericks down? Would Draco want more after they were done? Or was this… attraction between them just a result of adrenaline and tension? It wasn’t for Harry, but he couldn’t say for Draco.

Harry had watched and wanted abstractly for a while, maybe even since they were in school together, not that he would have known it for what it was at the time. He didn’t know if his low burn attraction to Draco would have ever grown into something more had they not been thrown together, but they had, and now Harry _wanted_ in a way he wasn’t sure he could walk away from without it hurting.

And all these questions and uncertainties were making him even more jittery and antsy, which was completely useless.

He got out of the shower and dressed quickly, moving back into the bedroom to find his trainers. Draco was still right where he had left him, sitting at the table with his nose buried in his research. Harry cleared his throat loudly, to get Draco’s attention. “I’m going to go down and beg some supper from Aberforth, and we are going to eat and then get some sleep.” Draco opened his mouth, the look on his face telling Harry he was going to protest, so Harry spoke over him. “Neither of us has had a proper night’s sleep in more than three days, and you can’t do anything until tomorrow’s delivery from Wiseacre’s anyway.”

Draco bit his lip, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll put this away and have a shower while you’re downstairs.”

“There’s a couple of bathrobes hanging up in the bathroom,” Harry said. “If we sleep in those tonight, I can ask Abe to wash our clothes ready for tomorrow. “He sniffed at the sleeve of his t shirt and grimaced. It still smelled of that fishy salve, and it had been the last of his spares from his Auror kit. Draco had been in his outfit for nearly two days now, still sporting the bloody rips from when he’d been injured. “I think we could both do with some clean clothes.”

“Agreed,” Draco said.

 

***

By the time Harry made it back up the stairs with a tray laden with warm scones, jam and butter, two huge mugs of tea, and a promise from Aberforth that a house elf would wash and dry their clothes for them by morning, Draco was already situated in one side of the bed. His hair looked a little more natural than usual, soft strands falling over his forehead instead of being slicked back, the still damp tips shining golden in the candlelight. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of his shower, the open neck of his robe showing a hint of smooth chest muscles. Harry nearly dropped the tray.

Purposefully not looking at Draco, Harry placed the tray on the bed and told him to help himself, before escaping back into the bathroom. He swapped his clothes for the second bathrobe, all the while telling his dick to stop getting so excited. Just because both of them had been okay with what had happened the night before, didn’t mean they were both looking for it to happen again. Even though they would be sleeping in nothing but bathrobes. In the same bed. And thinking about that was _not_ helping his dick to go down.

_Argus Filch in his underpants, think about Filch in his underpants…_

Once he was sure he wouldn’t embarrass himself, Harry cinched the robe tight around his waist and walked out of the bathroom. And almost turned straight back around again.

Because watching Draco eating in bed was like watching _domestic porn,_ and how had Harry not noticed this before?

Draco had sat himself up cross legged against the headboard, the tray of food in front of him. In one hand he held half a scone, fingers delicately holding the crumbly treat. Two fingers of his other hand were smeared with strawberry jam, and Harry watched, mesmerised, as he lifted them to his mouth and sucked them clean. It was _obscene,_ the way his lips parted to wrap around those digits, the way they slid slowly in and out, before his cheeks hollowed and he _sucked._ Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood in an effort to hold back a whimper. Flashes of all the different ways that action could be used in a sexual way had the problem with his dick popping back up so quickly it almost _hurt._ Harry flung himself towards the bed and under the covers, because there was no way he would be able to hide his reaction. Hiding in the bathroom all night would only make him look like more of an idiot.

“Careful,” Draco said. “You’ll spill the tea.”

Harry bit back a retort about other things he’d like to spill, and grabbed a plate instead, loading himself up. Maybe if he stuffed his face enough, he could keep the embarrassment down to a minimum.

“Have you thought anymore about how we’re going to do this?”

Harry choked on a mouthful of tea. “Do what?”

Draco shot him a curious look. “You’re the Auror here. Once I’ve managed to create the Time-Turner, it’ll be your job to decide how we use it.”

“Oh, right.” Harry took a bite of scone and butter, trying to get his mind out of the bed he was sharing with a nearly naked Draco and back onto the mission. “I think we’re safe to assume that Fredericks only reached out to his contacts once we’d left the Ministry.”

“Why is that safe to assume?”

Harry shrugged. “Too many variables otherwise. I might have been already out on a case when he summoned me. Or I might have refused, appealed to Dawlish or something. Or we could have taken longer to leave than we anticipated. Any one of those and more could have pushed back our leaving time.”

“Makes sense.” Draco nodded, putting his empty plate back on the tray, and leaned back against the pillows.

“Thanks. I do this for a living, you know.”

“It’s just strange to see you thinking things through. You never used to when we were at school.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You mean back when we were all stupid teenagers?”

“Acting without thinking first seemed to come so naturally to you, is all I’m saying,” Draco sniffed.

Harry looked at him. Draco was staring across at the opposite wall, and though his expression was blank, Harry could see a light flush painting his cheeks. He wondered if they weren’t talking about the mission right now. “I tend to think a lot more before I act these days, Draco,” he said slowly.

Draco turned to look at him then, catching Harry’s gaze and holding it, as though looking for something. After a moment he nodded, a small smile turning his lips upwards. _He really is so very pretty,_ Harry thought.

“Okay, so after we left is when Fredericks is most likely to have made contact,” Draco said, bringing them back on topic.

Harry cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s what I’m thinking. I don’t think he would have waited too long, though. I think our best bet to catch him would be to lie in wait in his office. We hide, watch him make contact, then withdraw our memories for corroborating pensieve witness statements for after I’ve arrested him.”

“Why can’t we arrest him on the spot?”

Harry shot him a look. “You may have been researching the Time-Turners, Draco, but have you ever actually used one?” Draco shook his head. “Well, I have. And trust me, there are far too many things that can go wrong when you can’t know the movements of everyone you might bump into.” He thought back briefly to that moment on the lake with the Dementors, the memory of Sirius causing a familiar pain in his chest. “No, we don’t know how often he was in contact with the ones following us. The best thing for us to do would be to collect the memories and then find a place to lie low until we’re back to our right time.”

Draco had a look of dawning understanding on his face, and he was already nodding along. “Yes, okay, I agree. That helps me, actually. This way I can concentrate on just making a daily Time-Turner, rather than an hourly one, if we have to go back that far. Now the only question remains is, where do we go to lie low?”

Harry thought about it, but couldn’t come up with a good answer. “We can think about that later.”

A loud thump and a high pitched moan came from the other room. Draco took Harry’s now empty plate from him and set it on the tray. He levitated it over to the table and flicked his wand at the lights, lowering them. “And what would we do to keep ourselves occupied for all that time?”

Harry’s mouth dried up at the sudden change in tone. He gulped as Draco turned slowly towards him, shifting down in the bed so that he was propped up on one elbow. Harry looked down at him, hoping desperately that this was going where he thought this might be going.

“I’m sure we could think of something,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Examples?”

Harry swallowed, gathering his courage. Things were about to get very awkward should he turn out to be wrong. _Oh, God, please don’t let me be wrong._ He slid down further under the covers, and reached out a hand, watching Draco’s face carefully. Those grey eyes followed his movement, completely still, the tip of his pink tongue swiping his lower lip as Harry’s fingers slid through the gap of his robe. He found soft skin and the dip of muscle, the curve of ribs as they expanded on a shallow breath. His thumb searched upwards, over the swell of a pec until he found Draco’s nipple. He circled it once, then pulled down, earning himself a gasp. Harry smiled. He wasn’t wrong.

He pushed closer, until he was leaning over Draco. “Things like last night,” he whispered.

Beneath him, Draco became a mass of movement, as though he’d been stuck until Harry’s words had unfrozen him. Arms came up to pull Harry down, one leg hooking over his hip to bring their bodies into alignment. Fingers wrapping tightly in his hair, Draco yanked Harry down into a kiss, open and wet and filthy, filled with teeth and spit and forceful tongue. Harry groaned into the kiss as he felt their hips slotting together, nothing but the thin fabric of the bathrobes to hide their arousal.

Harry thrust his hips into the feeling, unable to stop himself. Draco made a frustrated sound and reached down between them. Fingers yanked at the ties on their belts, and the next thing Harry knew, they were skin to skin, lips still connected in a messy kiss as though they would die if they separated.

It was frantic, fast-paced and messy, and over about as quickly as the first time Harry had ever had a hand on his dick that wasn’t his own, back when he’d been eighteen and still on a hair-trigger. Draco’s hand wrapped around them both, leg hooked over Harry’s hip to keep him close. Not that Harry could even think of moving away. One of his hands lay on the pillow next to Draco’s head, fingers clenching as he tried to concentrate on not coming too soon. But his other hand seemed to have a life of his own, shoving under the robe to get to more skin. His fingers dragged down Draco’s spine, feeling the play of shoulder muscles as Draco worked them both. They slipped in the sweat gathering at the small of Draco’s back and he dug in harder, earning a growl and a savage bite to his lip in response. Emboldened, he let his hand slide further down, to the swell of Draco’s arse cheeks. He dug the tips of his fingers into the soft flesh, nails biting into the smooth skin as he inched slowly towards his goal. He was rewarded with a flex of muscle and a curse, Draco biting down into the delicate skin of Harry’s neck, knee clamping down hard around his hip.

“Next time,” Draco muttered, speeding up the rhythm of his hand, squeezing Harry’s cock against his own hard enough to make Harry see stars. “I can’t… I’m too close, and I want… _fuck…_ Come, Harry. Come for me, next time you can fuck me, you can do whatever you want, just…”

The last of Draco’s rambling was cut off by a moan, as Harry lost his control and his orgasm took over, whiting out his vision. He felt his release as it coated Draco’s hand, his dick, and both their stomachs, so much of it, as though he’d been saving it all up for just this moment. He felt Draco’s hand slip, heard his frustrated curse, and it was enough to force Harry into moving again, pulling Draco closer and lining him up against the crease of Harry’s groin, encouraging him to fuck up against him through the wet, sticky mess. A stutter of his hips and another curse later, and Draco climaxed against him, face tucked into Harry’s neck and teeth digging in, just shy of too painful.

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped together in the sticky heat. The squeaking bedsprings in the other room filtered back to him, before dying out again. Harry became too sensitive to the feeling first and moved back, turning onto his back. He reached for his wand and cleaned them both up, surprised but pleased when Draco dragged him back in immediately. He let himself be pulled around, until Draco was satisfied with his head on Harry’s arm, leg still hooked over his hip. Harry drowsed for a while, the heat of Draco’s body lulling him into sleep. Just before he gave into it entirely, he blinked his eyes open one more time.

“Will you really let me do anything I want, next time?”

Draco snorted softly, breath hot and soft against the skin of Harry’s neck. “Probably not. I’m still me, after all.”

Harry smiled, and closed his eyes again.

 

***

“I think I’ve done it,” Draco said, putting his wand down and letting his shoulders slump.

Harry got up off the bed and walked over to the table, looking down at the newly created Time-Turner, sitting innocuously on the wooden surface. “Are you sure?”

Draco nodded. “As sure as I can be.” He picked it up, letting the hourglass dangle by its chain. “There’s only one way to find out for definite, of course.”

Harry reached out a hand, bringing the the gently swaying contraption in for a closer look. It didn’t look quite as Hermione’s once did; the bulbs of the hourglass were fatter, more rounded. It was probably because this one turned back days, rather than hours, Harry thought to himself. He let the chain go, looking at Draco.

“Okay. Then I guess we’re ready to go.” Harry looked down at his watch. “It’s nearly midday, so three and three quarter turns should take us back to six-ish Friday evening, which is just before we left, right?" He frowned, mentally rechecking his maths.

“We weren’t together at that point, though,” Draco put in.

“No, I know. But it’s the best we can do; any closer to the time we leave and we run the risk of missing Fredericks make contact.”

Draco nodded, still looking at the Time-Turner, spinning slowly in place. “Alright then. We both need to be wearing this before I turn it.”

Harry turned himself so that they were facing each other, and bent his head forward to let Draco slip the chain over his head. Draco touched his fingers to the hourglass, and Harry stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“Wait,” he said, a bit breathlessly. “Just in case we get blown up instead-”

“Nice to know you trust in my capabilities,” Draco cut him off with a sneer.

“Shut up,” Harry replied, and kissed him. It was a hungry kiss, hard and full of promise for all the things he wanted to be able to do with Draco, once this was all over. Draco kissed him back just as hungrily, just as full of need and desire, and they were both short on breath by the time they parted.

“Just… Now you know,” Harry said on a rush, a bit lamely.

Draco just nodded. “There’s an alcove around the corner from Fredericks’ office,” he said, lifting his hand to the Time-Turner again. “Meet me there as soon as you can.” And then he spun the little fat hourglass once, twice, three times, stopping the fourth rotation a quarter away from the top.

And their room at the Hogs Head disappeared into a blur around them.

 

***

Harry was disoriented as he landed, with Draco no longer standing in front of him. A Ministry hallway materialised in front of him, and he had just enough time to throw himself around a corner, before his past self stomped past, muttering under his breath about _bloody Unspeakables_ and _classified bullshit._ Harry grinned to himself and stood still, waiting for past Harry to disappear into his office. All he had to do was wait until he left again, and then he could sneak in and grab-

“Harry? What are you doing?”

Harry jumped, cursing to himself as he saw Ron walking towards him, frowning.

“I thought you had to go see the Unspeakables?”

“I do,” Harry said quickly. “I mean, I did. And now I’ve got to go back again,” he added stupidly.

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” he said slowly. “So you definitely can’t come along on this bust, then?”

“No, sorry.” Harry thought frantically, trying to remember what he’d done nearly four days ago. “I’ll leave a note on your desk, when I know what I’m up to.”

“Yeah, cool. Lunch at the Burrow on Sunday, if I don’t see you before then?”

Harry would be in South America on Sunday, he knew, but he nodded agreement anyway. “Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.”

Ron clapped a hand on his shoulder and grinned. “Excellent. I think Ginny’s going to finally tell mum she’s moving in with Dean. Mum won’t yell so much if you’re there.”

Harry waved Ron off and sent up a silent apology to Ginny for having to deal with Molly on a rampage. She’d never quite forgiven either her daughter or Harry for not getting back together after the war, although for some reason Ginny bore the brunt of it. Harry had tried to tell her that the reason was because he liked _boys,_ but had eventually given up after Ginny had told him to knock it off. _Mum’s used to me not doing what she wants me to,_ she’d said firmly. _She’ll get over it eventually._ Still, Harry liked to be there for moral support whenever he could, and he was sorry that his friends would have to face this particular hurdle without him.

Past-Harry suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor, and Harry quickly ducked into the nearest door, which turned out to be the women’s bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty, and Harry was spared any awkward conversations as he waited for his past self to walk past the door and out of sight. Harry waited an extra second, and then sprinted round to his office.

He found the note past him had left on Ron’s desk. He thought about adding an apology for his absence on Sunday, but decided against it. The less they messed with in the past, the better for everyone. He went round to his own desk and bent down, unlocking the bottom drawer and pulling it open. The silky folds of his Invisibility Cloak lay right at the back, just where he kept it. His ownership of it still wasn’t common knowledge, and he only brought it out for cases where it was really warranted. Which was a shame really, he mused, as he picked it out and threw it over his shoulders. He really quite missed the thrill of being completely invisible.

After a quick check to make sure that his feet were covered, Harry slid out of his office and made his way as quickly as he could towards Fredericks’ office, hopefully where Draco would be waiting for him. It was surprisingly easy to navigate the halls and staircases, although, Harry guessed, it was nearing six o’clock on a Friday evening. Most of the Ministry workers would have already left for the day, leaving the weekend to those sorry few who had the off-shift. He passed Hermione’s office on his way, completely unsurprised to see the top of her bushy hair over a pile of books and parchments. Ron would probably have to come down and tear her away, once he was done with the arrest.

Draco was waiting, right where he said he would be, tucked into a small alcove a few doors down from Fredericks’ office. He was muttering to himself and twisting his fingers, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when Harry lifted up the cloak.

“Fucking _Christ,_ Harry, where the fuck have you been?”

“Sorry,” Harry said, crowding close and slipping the cloak over Draco. “I ran into Ron, and had to wait for past me to get out of my office.”

“You spoke to Weasley? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Well I couldn’t exactly run in the opposite direction, that would’ve looked even more suspicious.”

Draco grumbled to himself and tried to better position them so that the cloak covered them both. He ended up having to crouch down slightly; he was as tall as Ron.

“Have you seen Fredericks yet?” Harry asked, trying to distract himself from the way their hips kept scraping together. Popping an erection now would be a really bad idea.

“We all left his office a few minutes ago. I don’t know how long it will be before he gets back.”

“We’d better get in there now, then.”

They hobbled slowly down the corridor. It was difficult going; despite the relative emptiness of the hallways, there was always the chance of someone coming across them and sounding the alarm after seeing a couple of pairs of disembodied feet shuffling along. Harry was sweating by the time they finally made it to Fredericks’ office, and he hoped against hope that the door wouldn’t be warded with anything that an _Alohomora_ couldn’t undo. He was pleasantly surprised when the door clicked open before them, and they quickly went inside and slammed it shut behind them, both breathing hard.

“Okay, hard part’s over. Now all we have to do is wait for him to come back.”

Draco nodded, pointing to the far corner of the room. “If we huddle down there, he shouldn’t notice us.”

They sank down to the floor to wait, not knowing how long it would take. Harry resituated the cloak around them, and rested his head against the wall. “I swear this invisibility stuff used to be less hard work.”

“Well, that’s because you used to use it to sneak out of your common room at night.”

“There is that. What’s the time?”

Draco shifted next to him, checking his watch. “We should have left by Portkey by now.”

“If he doesn’t come straight back here, I’m going to arrest him extra hard in a few days. My arse is already going numb.”

“How does Weasley ever put up with your moaning?”

“He’s way worse than me.”

“I have no idea why Hermione spends so much of her time with the two of you.”

“It’s probably a charity outreach program for her.”

“Well, she did always like picking lost causes at school, I suppose.”

“I had no idea you spent so much effort thinking about us back then, Draco.”

“Please, as if you lot weren’t obsessing over me and mine the entire time.”

“Maybe, but only because-”

“Ssh! I can hear something.”

Harry clamped his mouth shut and held himself impossibly still. Next to him, he could feel the strain of Draco’s muscles as he did the same. The door swung open and Fredericks walked in, a smug smile tugging at his lips. Harry wanted to hex him right where he stood.

He watched as Fredericks went about setting up a secure Fire-Call, and a moment later Harry was staring at the floating head of Hook Nose. He must have moved or something, because Harry felt a hand sliding over his knee, gripping down tight. He looked over at Draco and gave a slight nod; he wouldn’t do anything to mess this up, no matter how much he wanted to strangle both of the men.

“Have they gone?” Hook Nose asked.

“Just got the confirmation,” Fredericks replied, laughter colouring his tone. Harry’s fingers gripped his wand tighter.

“And you’re sure about their destination?”

“As much as I can be. The Malfoy brat was clever not writing it down, but I managed to figure it out eventually.”

“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t just attack the little bastard on his way home from work one day.”

Fredericks scoffed. “Because then there’d be an investigation, Chilter, do use your head. The first thing they’d look into would be what he was working on, and then the secret would be out. It would be practically impossible for a Time-Turner to be made without causing suspicion. Getting to him while he’s out of the country is a much simpler option.”

“It would have been simpler if you hadn’t sent Potter along with him.”

“How many times do we have to go over this?” Fredericks sighed. “It would have been suspicious if I hadn’t insisted he take protection.”

“It didn’t have to be Potter, though. Out of all the incompetent Aurors you could have commandeered-”

“Auror recruitment has gone through a lot of changes in the last few years, Chilter. There aren’t as many dunderheads populating their ranks as there used to be. No, Potter was the best choice. You should have seen his face when I told him.” Fredericks laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed the Malfoy brat before you even turned up. It’s obvious there’s no love lost there.”

“If you’re wrong, Fredericks-”

“I’m _not._ Now, go get me my research.”

Chilter’s head began to fade in the fire, but Fredericks called him back with one last request.

“Oh, Chilter? Make sure Malfoy’s death is a painful one, yes?”

Chilter smiled nastily. “I wouldn’t do it any other way.”

The connection broke off, and Fredericks moved around his office, humming a jaunty little tune. Harry could feel the tension coming off of Draco in waves, and he couldn’t wait for Fredericks to leave his office so that they could get out of here.

It seemed like an interminably long time before Fredericks finished puttering around and gathered up his things, before leaving his office for the weekend. Harry waited an extra few agonising seconds before throwing off the cloak and standing up. He stared down at Draco, at the stiff way he held himself. Harry braced for panic; Harry knew first hand what hearing yourself spoken about like that could do to someone. But what came out of Draco’s mouth wasn’t what he’d expected at all.

“You didn’t want to go on this mission with me?”

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again. “I… What?”

But Draco was nodding to himself, looking at the floor as he pulled himself up to standing. “I guessed as much, when Fredericks told me who he’d asked to protect me, but I thought… never mind.”

“Draco, no, it’s not-” Harry cut himself off, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “We can’t talk about it here, come on.”

He grabbed Draco by the elbow, pulled out his wand to open an Auror sanctioned hole in the wards, and then Apparated them both. He was as shocked as Draco seemed to be when they landed in the middle of the Hogs Head. Behind the bar, Aberforth dropped a glass.

“Aberforth, we need a room, on the top floor if you wouldn’t mind,” Harry said quickly, dragging Draco towards the staircase. “I’ll come down and explain in a bit,” he called over his shoulder. He’d also have to explain the part where they turn up _again_ in a few days’ time.

He pulled Draco all the way up to the top floor, opening the door to the room and shoving them both inside. The room was just like the one they’d left earlier that day, only everything was in the opposite position. He let go of Draco to shut and lock the door, and when he turned around, Draco had walked all the way to the other side of the room, his back turned and his shoulders stiff.

Okay. Harry could do this. He _could._

“Draco, listen. I didn’t not want to work with you… I mean, I _didn’t_... But it wasn’t…”

Draco’s back muscles became visibly tighter. Okay, maybe Harry _couldn’t_ do this, not without fucking it all up. He pulled at his hair in frustration and tried again.

“I like you, Draco. I have for a while. I mean, not _you_ you, because until the last few days I didn’t really know too much about you, but I mean the way you look. And I didn’t want to work with you because I was worried that you would find that out.”

Draco turned a quarter of the way around, letting Harry see him in profile. From what he could tell, he didn’t look convinced. Harry babbled on.

“Which, you did find out, in what could have been a very embarrassing drug related moment but instead actually turned into a really nice moment, and then last night and this morning and…” He came to a stop, and let out a sigh. “I didn’t not want to work with you,” he repeated lamely.

Draco cocked his head to look at him, and Harry bit his lip. His face was very carefully blank, but the line of his shoulders were looser. It gave Harry a little bit of hope.

“You like me?”

Harry nodded. “Yes.”

“And you’ve liked me for a while?”

Harry nodded again, rooted to the floor as he watched Draco stalk closer.

“And you didn’t not want to work with me?”

Harry nodded, then shook his head, so violently it made him slightly dizzy.

“And last night? And this morning?”

Harry shuddered, remembering the blow job he’d woken up to.

“You liked that?”

Draco was close now, chest an inch away from colliding with Harry’s, filling his vision and taking over his senses until all Harry could see, hear, and _breathe_ was Draco. It made Harry’s mouth water. He nodded again, feeling a little bit stupid.

“Good,” Draco said, and placed a hand on Harry’s chest and _shoved_.

Harry stumbled back into the wall, but before he could recover Draco was on him, crushing into him and pressing his lips to Harry’s, licking inside hot and wet and _dirty._ Harry whimpered around the tongue in his mouth and grabbed fistfuls of Draco’s shirt, yanking him closer so that he could rub against him. A thigh pushed in between his own and his hips jerked forwards, dick going from politely interested to rock hard in a matter of seconds, and then… And then Draco _pulled away._

“No, no, no,” Harry muttered, trying to step with him, but Draco locked his elbows, forcing them apart. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Draco said, even as he backed away, closer to the bed. “You are.”

“I am?” Harry watched, licking his lips as Draco fell onto the bed, legs spread wide and inviting.

Draco leaned back on his elbows, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Yes. You need to have a conversation with Aberforth.”

Harry blinked, uncomprehending, then gestured down to where his cock was pressing firm and very obviously against the front of his jeans. “I can’t go down and talk to him like this!”

Draco looked down, and very deliberately licked his lips. “Just think of it as an incentive for you to make it a very _quick_ conversation.”

Harry groaned in disbelief. “Oh my God, I _hate_ you.”

Draco outright _grinned_ at that. “No, you _like_ me.”

“I have absolutely no idea why.”

“I can probably give you a few reasons.” Draco lifted his hips off the bed once, twice.

Harry groaned again, and reached for the door handle. “When I get back up here, you’re going to pay for this.”

Draco relaxed back onto the bed, smiling. “I’ll be waiting.”

 

***

_“Fuck,_ Harry, _harder,_ come on.”

Harry sucked in a heaving breath, shuffling his knees on the sheet below him. He was sweaty and his jaw was aching from how long he’d clenched his teeth together, trying to will his orgasm away until Draco was ready to let him come. His damp palms slipped in their grip on Draco’s hips, and he had to stop moving to get a better hold.

“I said _harder,_ not _stop,_ what are you doing?”

“Stop being so bossy,” Harry complained, knowing it was a lost cause. Over the past three days he’d learned very quickly that sex with Draco was always on his terms. Not that Harry minded; every single time had been _mind-blowingly_ good.

Draco squirmed, doing absolutely delightful things to Harry’s dick. “I wouldn’t have to be bossy if you would just _fuck me harder!”_

Harry slapped his arse cheek, earning himself an undignified squeak followed by a low moan, and he smirked. He slid his hand up, admiring the soft shift of Draco’s muscles beneath his sweat-slicked back, the way his skin seemed to glow in the slowly darkening room. He kept going, over Draco’s shoulder, following his arm all the way to where his fingers were curled around the headboard. He gripped him tight, other hand sliding round to Draco’s stomach, holding him close. He made sure not to brush against Draco’s hard and leaking dick; Draco was adamant that this time he would come untouched, and Harry didn’t want to disappoint him. He nuzzled into the sweat-dampened hair at the nape of Draco’s neck, breathing in the smell of him. He smelled of soap and sex and _Harry._ It was intoxicating.

“Ssh, do you hear that?”

“What?” Harry accompanied the the word with a deep thrust of his hips. Draco flailed a hand back to still his movements.

“Stop, stop! Listen!”

“Now you want me to stop?” Harry shook his head. Draco really was infuriating in all the right ways.

“What time is it?” Draco asked urgently, lunging towards the bedside table to grab his watch. Harry slipped out with a hiss and a groan, hands reaching out to steady Draco. “Ha! I thought so!”

“Draco, what are you going on about?”

Draco ignored him, shuffling back up over the mussed and tangled sheets to get closer to the wall. “Can’t you hear them?”

Realisation dawned on Harry. Their past selves had turned up at the Hogs Head earlier that day. “Are you listening to us having sex?” He whispered the question furiously, embarrassment on behalf of his past self heating up his already flushed face.

Draco turned, eyeing Harry over his shoulder as he pressed his ear still closer to the wall. “Come on, this is probably the closest we’ll ever get to hearing or seeing ourselves having sex. Tell me you’re not curious.”

Harry thought about it, then groaned. “Well, _now_ I am.” He abandoned the tantalising slide of Draco’s arse against his cock and tried to get closer to the wall himself, only to be slapped back by Draco.

“No wait, I’ve changed my mind.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Draco put his hands back on the headboard, shoving himself back into Harry insistently. “Quick, get back in me. I want to come at the same time we do.”

“That’s… weirdly kinky,” Harry said, but he hastened to comply, gritting his teeth against the silky smooth slide back into Draco’s hole. They’d been at this for over an hour already, and he’d been on the cusp of losing it for at least half that time.

“Shut up, you love it.”

_I love you,_ was on the tip of Harry’s tongue, but he bit it back. It was too soon for that, Harry knew. Somehow though, he didn’t think it would be all that long before it slipped out by accident.

In the brief pause after sliding in all the way to the hilt, Harry heard movement from the other side of the wall. He flashed back to that first frenetic coupling, the way Draco pulled him in so insistently, the electricity that snapped in a whiplash up his spine at the realisation that Draco wanted him just as much as he wanted Draco. He pulled out and slammed back in again, setting up a pounding rhythm that had Draco arching his back and turning his bossy commands into breathless moans of unconnected syllables. Harry thought he might like this part best, because a monosyllabic Draco meant that Harry was doing something very right.

He heard his own moan sound out through the wall, echoed by Draco in front of him, and the last of his will snapped. He shoved Draco down, hand between his shoulder blades, slamming into him again and again. Draco’s cries of completion rang out in surround sound, muffled into the pillows beneath them and shouted in a curse through the wall, and Harry came so hard and so sudden after being kept on a knife’s edge for so long that it actually _hurt._

He collapsed on top of Draco, ignoring the put out grumble until Draco started digging his elbow into Harry’s ribs. He flopped over onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. Draco shuffled over, placing his head on Harry’s chest and gusting out a long, satisfied breath. Harry’s hand drifted down, fingers carding through the damp hair.

“I had no idea we were that loud the first time.”

“First time for you,” Draco said smugly. “Second time for me.”

“Do we have to include the drug induced fondling?”

A snort. “Of course.” Draco fumbled a hand around in the sheets, finally coming up with Harry’s wand. He waved it airily, cleaning them both. “You know what this means, right?” He asked, settling back down.

“That I’m kinkier than I thought I would be?”

Draco snorted again. “Trust me, Harry. You haven’t _seen_ kinky yet.”

Harry’s dick twitched, painfully.

“But no, I mean about tomorrow.”

Harry sighed, understanding. The past few days had been amazing, holed up in their room with Draco. They’d spent the entire time in bed, Aberforth’s two old house elves bringing them meals so that they wouldn’t risk being spotted. They’d had sex in positions Harry hadn’t even known existed, and in all combinations; slow and sweet, hot and hard, shower sex, wall sex, floor sex, sleepy morning sex… The list went on. And in the quiet moments between rounds, they’d talked, about everything and nothing, with one glaring exception: What would happen when their repeated time was over.

“You mean what’s going to happen once I’ve arrested Fredericks?”

Draco nodded. Harry already had a plan for that. He was going to extract his and Draco’s memories of Fredericks’ office and take them straight to Dawlish. He was also going to insist that he be the one heading up the arrest; there were a few things he’d like to say to the Unspeakable Head. He might possibly say them with his fists.

Harry stroked Draco’s hair. He could feel the tension seeping back into Draco’s muscles, the stillness of him that said he was trying to hide his nerves. Harry had learned a lot about how to read Draco over the past few days. He made a decision, and hoped it was the right one.

“Well,” he said lightly, “I was thinking I might ask Dawlish for a few days off. You know, to recuperate.”

“Recuperate?” The tension didn’t leave Draco’s body; if anything, it ratcheted up a few more notches. Harry was fucking this up again.

“Yeah. All that running across different continents, it takes it out of you, you know? I think we deserve a break after that.”

“We?”

Harry slid further down the bed, turning into Draco until they were face to face. “Yeah, we. Is that a problem?”

Draco held his gaze for a long moment, searching for something. He seemed to find it, because he smiled, that soft, small smile that Harry loved so much. “No, it’s not a problem.”

Harry smiled back and kissed him, gently.

“Hmm. Although, if you mention either a tent or another room in the Hogs Head, I may have to change my mind.”

Harry laughed. And then he kissed Draco, still laughing, again and again, and again.

 

END.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/51180.html). ♥
> 
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at [hd_erised @ livejournal.com](http://hd_erised.livejournal.com/). The author will be revealed January 8th.


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